


You put a spell on me

by frenchkiss



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Auguste Lives, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flashbacks, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mentions of the Regent, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Quidditch, Your typical Capri trigger warnings for abuse/awfulness in Laurent's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8121196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchkiss/pseuds/frenchkiss
Summary: Hogwarts AU, featuring an alive Auguste, kissing in the library, lots of tears, Neville Longbottom, a Quidditch match, the Yule Ball, a Ravendor scarf, and two boys who find each other in a place where everything's a little bit magic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It is a truth universally acknowledged that every fandom is in want of a good Hogwarts AU.
> 
> Now I'm not saying this is /good/ per se but I have been working on this for what feels like eight years and I hope you all enjoy it! It's long, it's sad, it's happy, there's lots of kissing and cuddling and crying and a few tears here and there but these dorks are in love in every universe and I think that's something to be celebrated. Also I have to apologise a hundred times for the lack of magic in this, a Hogwarts AU. 
> 
> TW: past abuse, graphic descriptions of the abuse (in one scene, if you don't want to read this then skip the bit after where Jord walks Laurent back to his dormitory), sad boys, minor character illness and major character injury, and also terrible writing.
> 
> Also Mari(e), if you're reading this, your notes are at the end.

Nobody really understands the relationship between Laurent and Damen.

Nobody really understands why Damen, the loudest, proudest, most popular Seventh Year in all of Hogwarts, seems to spend all of his time with his best friend’s younger brother. Nobody really understands why, when Damen has boys and girls both throwing themselves as his feet, he picked this strange, quiet, reserved young Ravenclaw who spends most of his life with his nose in books. Nobody really understands the two of them, because Damen likes to fill a room and talk to everything and everyone from teacher to First Year, whereas to a lot of people Laurent comes across as hostile, perhaps a little bitchy.

No, nobody really understands the thing between Laurent and Damen. It seems a little confusing to most, and even to Laurent sometimes, that the golden boy of the school wants to be with him. But then to him Damen isn’t necessarily the golden boy of the school, he’s simply… Damen. His Damen. The gentle giant of a boy who stole his heart easily, easier than Laurent was willing to give it away, but he’s growing to accept it. There are times now when he looks at Damen and thinks for a second,  _ I deserve you. And I adore you. _

Auguste, ever the optimist, tells him regularly that Damen cannot shut up about him when they’re practicing on the pitches late, or when they’re meant to be studying for their N.E.W.T.S. in the library. Sometimes Laurent wonders if perhaps his brother thinks too highly of him, but then again he also sometimes wonders if he falls for the high school sweetheart mentality that Laurent himself has always tried to force himself away from.

Because ultimately, he trusts Auguste even above Damen. Auguste has never lied to him – he feels infinitely blessed to be brothers with someone as strong, as resilient, and as passionate about life as Auguste. Seeker on the Gryffindor team alongside Laurent’s Captain/Keeper boyfriend, Auguste knows Damen almost as well as Laurent does, some parts better. And that’s comforting in a way, because Laurent has had a lot of stumbles in his life, but he trusts Auguste not to let him fall for the wrong person.

Damen is unmistakably gorgeous. He has soft curly hair that falls into his eyes when he’s reading his books, strong arms that Laurent just loves to have wrapped around his shoulders, and the kindest eyes Laurent has ever known. Growing up, he used to think Auguste had the kindest eyes, but Damen has the type of eyes that make him impossible not to warm to instantly.

Laurent loves Damen’s eyes. He loves pretty much everything about Damen if he’s being honest with himself, but those three little words aren’t ones he uses often.  It’s still kind of new between them, even though they’ve been together a fair while. Laurent wanted to be certain that what he was feeling was love, and when he said the words in a rush right before they fell asleep once, Damen was quick to utter them back. Now Damen uses them freely, a lot more than Laurent does, certainly. It’s very flattering, and while sometimes he scolds him for the overkill, sometimes there is just nothing better than the way his heart skips a beat when Damen’s around, professing his love like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

One day, Laurent is going to tell Damen. He will have to, because Damen will soon be leaving Hogwarts and Laurent will have a year without his brother or best friend, and that frightens him. He needs to know that he’ll have a life outside of Hogwarts when his own time here comes to an end, and he knows that life will include Auguste.

But he would also really,  _ really _ like it to include Damen.

It’s been a good seven months since they began dating, seven months during which they’ve become almost inseparable. It was Laurent and Auguste’s first summer without their uncle, so Auguste had no qualms in inviting Damen to stay for the bulk of it. Their house – a little cottage in Hogsmeade that has been empty since the three of them returned to Hogwarts – was thankfully in their father’s name, and with Auguste now eighteen, the Ministry handed over a guardianship to him quite easily. He only has one more year at Hogwarts, Laurent two, and after that time the pair will be able to live together, just the two of them, as they’ve been dreaming of doing since their father died all those years ago.

He’s never voiced it, not once, but Laurent has a feeling that Auguste blames himself for…  _ it _ . The year he spent alone with his uncle was the worst year of his life, but things have changed a lot since then and for the first time in his short span on earth, Laurent feels something that he thinks might be contentment. He still has the occasional horrid flashback and nightmares at times, nightmares that see him scream and kick out at the body in the bed next to him, but it’s always just Damen. And Damen, bless his heart, doesn’t understand, not yet, but he holds him and kisses him and promises him the world. A world that Laurent never saw himself desiring. It’s a lot to take in.

And yes, he may love Damen and Auguste and be incredibly grateful for everything they’ve done for him, but that doesn’t mean he is going to wear a Gryffindor scarf to the Quidditch match today.

“No,” he says flatly, hands on hips. “Not a chance. Not a fucking chance, not for all the gold in Gringotts.”

“We all know you’d do it for all the gold in Gringotts,” Auguste replies, mimicking his stance. “Come  _ on,  _ little brother, it’s just one match.”

“One match,” Laurent scoffs. Damen’s been grinning throughout this whole exchange and he fights down the urge to punch him. “I’ve still got to maintain some integrity, you brutes.”

“But it’s the quarter finals, and everyone is gonna know who you’re really cheering on,” Damen says, blinking at him with his big brown eyes. Laurent is such a fucking sucker for those eyes. “Everyone knows your brother and boyfriend are the stars of the Gryffindor team. It might even be looked at as unsupportive, you know, if you didn’t honour us this way.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Laurent swears. Auguste cackles and Damen looks mighty pleased with himself. “I am not wearing your fucking Gryffindor scarf, for the last time.”

“Not even if I do that thing you like with my tongue?”

“ _ Damianos,”  _ Laurent and Auguste both shrill at once, flushing matching shades of pink. This time, Laurent does actually punch him.

“What?” he shrugs, catching Laurent by the wrist and tugging him into his side. He presses a loud, smacking kiss onto Laurent’s flaming cheek. Laurent stamps on his toe. “Ooh, I love it when you play dirty.”

“That’s my cue to leave,” Auguste says loudly, covering his eyes as he makes his way towards the doorway. “Remember to use protection, you fucking animals.”

Damen laughs into a scowling Laurent’s neck as Auguste thunders down the steps of the tower, leaving the pair alone in Damen’s bedroom. As Head Boy, Damen is privileged enough to be given his own bedroom and bathroom, which Laurent does love, but it also means that now they’re alone, and there will be no witnesses to Laurent’s protests.

“I don’t want to wear a fucking Gryffindor scarf.”

“Sod the scarf,” Damen says, turning the smaller boy in his arms and brushing his hair out his eyes. Laurent blinks up at him a few times. “As long as you’re there I don’t really care if you come in just your boxers.”

“That would be cold, and also you would  _ so _ mind, you possessive bastard.”

“You have a point,” Damen says after a moment, like he’s mulling it over. He leans down and kisses Laurent on his slack mouth, just once, then pulls back and grins. “Hey. I love you. Smile for me.”

“I am smiling,” Laurent says, then curls his mouth up into the biggest fake smile he can muster. “Look, see? A smile.”

Damen tuts and brings his hand up to the back of Laurent’s neck. He rings his fingers into Laurent’s long, loose hair and uses it as leverage to join their mouths. He’s smiling into the kiss, and it’s enough to make Laurent grin back as he grips his shoulders, aligning their bodies closer. When they pull back they’re both breathing a little heavier than before, and Damen knocks their foreheads together.

“You’re staying here tonight, right?”

“Of course,” Laurent nods, arms wrapping around Damen’s middle. “Gotta make sure my man has a good night’s sleep before his big game.”

“Oh, you do care about this game?” asks Damen, voice dripping. “So you’ll wear the scarf then?”

“Oh my god,” Laurent whines. “You know I care about the game, you giant animal. I just don’t want to wear the scarf.”

“But I want you to wear the scarf,” Damen pouts. Laurent sighs.

“You want everyone to know about us,” he says, flattening his palm against Damen’s chest. He lets it rest there for a few moments, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Sometimes he needs that. Sometimes it’s nice to know that Damen is still there, even when he’s right up in Laurent’s space and getting on his nerves.

Damen rests his cheek on top of Laurent’s head. “I mean, would that be the worst thing?”

“It wouldn’t be the  _ worst  _ thing,” Laurent remarks. “Genocide is the worst thing. Big earthquakes that destroy whole villages are the worst thing.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Damen growls, but he’s laughing. “You’re insufferable. Absolutely bloody insufferable.”

“I’m being realistic,” Laurent pouts. “One of us has to be. Stupid bloody Gryffindors, thinking everyone is just gonna worship the ground they walk on twenty-four seven.”

“I worship the ground you walk on,” Damen hums, and the tightening in Laurent’s chest intensifies. “You’re really rather lovely, you know, when you’re not insulting me and everything I love.”

“I try,” Laurent says, then he pulls back enough to pucker his lips, calling for a kiss. Damen gives it to him easily, his giant hand coming up to cup Laurent’s cheek. It’s gentle, tender and sweet, and Laurent could probably do this forever, if Damen would have him. When they do eventually pull back they stay connected by a rather unattractive string of spit, and Damen giggles as he brushes it away, using his thumb to clean the corner of his mouth.

“I love you,” he says, all dopey smiles and big eyes. “And now I’m going for a piss.”

“Bloody hell,” Laurent groans, shoving him towards the stairs and flopping onto the unmade bed. The ugly, gaudy scarf is staring at him from Damen’s chest of drawers, and he eyes it menacingly for a second before groaning to himself. “Fucking awful Gryffindor  _ arse, _ ” he curses, grabbing it and dropping it on the sheets. It’s then he gets an idea, and by the time Damen’s back he’s bewitched the garment so it’s a rather peculiar blend of reds, golds, blues and silvers.

“A Ravendor scarf,” he gasps as he re-enters the room, eyes all wide like this bloody scarf is the most exciting bit of Wizardry he’s seen in a place where the staircases move whenever they feel like it and ghosts sometimes float through their bedroom walls. “Oh my Godric.”

“Idiot,” Laurent mutters, but he winds the scarf around his neck regardless and blinks up at Damen, doing his level best to look as adorable as he can make himself. “What do you think, you narcissistic brute?”

“I think you look beautiful,” Damen grins, and he moves forward and uses the scarf to pull Laurent towards him, their mouths hovering mere centimetres from one another. Laurent grins too, and only flushes a little at the compliment. And then Damen says, “I would also very much like to fuck you in that scarf.”

“I want never gets,” Laurent says sardonically, but it doesn’t hold much strength, not with the way he can’t stop staring at Damen’s mouth. “You can fuck me after dinner though. I just don’t much fancy going down to the Great Hall smelling of sex.”

Damen’s face falls, just a flash, but it’s enough for Laurent to pull a face and worry that he’s said something wrong. Damen, however, just kisses him, once, and then lies back on the pillows and pulls Laurent into his arms. Laurent goes easily and they lie back to chest, and Laurent settles his hands atop Damen’s and gives them a gentle squeeze.

“I mean, would it be the worst thing ever if people knew we were dating?”

“You’ve already asked that.”

“And you didn’t answer.”

Laurent groans, loud and tired. “It’s not the people knowing bit I care about,” he sighs. “I reckon quite a lot of people know anyway. You’re not exactly subtle, Damianos”

A smile is pressed into the back of his neck. “I’m in love, sue me.”

“And so am I,” Laurent replies, because he needs Damen to know. He wishes he were the type of person that Damen deserved to show off, and the whole thing is just one big battle that his brain is constantly fighting. “But I dunno, I just feel a little bit… I guess I’m just a bit more reserved? I dunno.”

“Hey,” Damen says quietly. “It’s fine, you know. We can keep things as they are if that makes you happy. I care more about you being happy than people knowing, I hope you know that.”

“I do know that.” Laurent’s voice is quiet, bordering on ashamed. He  _ wishes  _ he could love Damen the way a bright star like him deserves to be loved. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Damen promises. Another kiss to the back of Laurent’s neck. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d absolutely love to show you off and scream from the top of the Owlery how much you mean to me, but if you don’t want that then I respect that and I won’t.”

Laurent doesn’t say anything for a while, but when he does it’s barely louder than a whisper. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Damen whispers back. He sounds far away, too far away for Laurent’s liking, and reserved himself in a way Laurent doesn’t think he’s ever heard from him. So he quickly spins in his arms and kisses him. It’s a hard kiss, not the kind of kiss he would normally initiate, and that’s clear to both of them as Damen lets out a surprised sound but kisses back with bite. His hands come up to fist in Laurent’s hair, loose around his shoulders. The air between them in charged, electric, and Laurent’s head hurts because there was a time when he thought he was never going to fall in love or be loved, and now he’s so in love he can barely see straight.

When they pull apart, panting and hot and reluctant, Laurent rests their foreheads together and kisses the tip of Damen’s nose. Once again, it’s the kind of gesture that Laurent wouldn’t normally make, but he wants to show Damen he’s trying. He wants to try.

“I’m not saying never, I’m not saying that at all,” he assures. He then slides his slightly shaky hand into Damen’s and squeezes again. “I’m just saying not right this minute.” He pauses. “Just… can you give me some time? Please?”

“Of course,” Damen murmurs, and mirrors Laurent’s earlier move and pecks him on the nose. He pulls back and tucks himself a little higher on the pillows, letting his gorgeous brown eyes drop closed. Between them they’re quiet for a long while, and Laurent almost dozes off in Damen’s warmth. But just as he thinks they both might be sleeping Damen shifts and lets out a long sigh. Even with his own eyes closed Laurent can easily picture his face -–his brows knit together, his thick lips turning down in a frown, his nostrils flaring. He’s just about to ask what’s wrong, but then he feels lips press onto his forehead and his breath hitches before he can stop himself. His eyes flutter open and Damen looks down at him, frowning like Laurent had predicted.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Wasn’t asleep,” Laurent mumbles, then he yawns. He sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “Want to go to dinner like we’d originally planned?”

“Yeah,” Damen nods. He pulls on a jumper from his wardrobe, then tilts his head towards it, questioning. “You cold?”

“A bit,” Laurent says, pushing himself to his feet. Damen moves to reach for one of his standard black pullovers, but Laurent shakes his head and makes a nod towards his Keeper’s jumper, eyebrows raised. “That one?”

Damen’s eyes are wide. “Laurent…”

“No, come on. Before I lose my nerve.” He laughs, but they both know it’s hollow, and then he snatches the jumper and shrugs it on. It completely swallows him, nearly reaching his knees, but it’s toasty warm, it smells good, and the look on Damen’s face is a picture. “How do I look?”

“Like a prince,” Damen grins, moving into his space. Hands on shoulders, lips on lips, they press close and as he sinks into the kiss Laurent thinks  _ maybe I can do this. Maybe I can. _

“Are you ready?” Damen asks once the kiss is over, which is a lot quicker than Laurent’s pounding heart wanted. But he nods.

“I’m ready.”

“Hold my hand?”

“Can we…” Laurent starts, then realises he’s pretty much got Damen stamped all over him so there’s little point in protesting, There’s still a tiny voice screeching in the back of his mind that this is a bad idea, but the smile of Damen’s face overrides that. He’s going to try. “Yes, alright. Hold my hand.”

He starts to feel a little giddy as they move down Damen’s staircase, possibly nerves but probably just love drunk. Damen’s hand on the small of his back guides him easily towards the portrait hole, and once they step through and onto the sixth floor corridor Laurent can definitely feel himself start to sweat. But in true Damen-style his boyfriend doesn’t even mention it, he just grips Laurent’s damp hand as tight as he dares and moves them towards the Great Hall, chatting animatedly about what he has planned for Quidditch training tomorrow.

It's relatively late, the moon already high in the sky and visible through the tall, ornate windows of the castle. The corridors are fairly empty, with most students either in their common rooms or the library. Dinner is pretty much finished, but those who are milling around the Great Hall and the corridor leading to it turn to greet Damen as they usually would, and Laurent watches more than one of them go a little bug-eyed at the sight of the pair together. Damen being Damen greets them all back politely, but he looks back at Laurent each and every time, which after a while gets a little unnerving.

There are definitely whispers already circulating the Great Hall by the time they get there, and Laurent finds that rather than flinching away from Damen like he’d anticipated he’d want to do, he actually clings to Damen a little tighter, curling the hand not clasped in his round Damen’s bicep. Shuffling behind him like this makes him feel safer, more impenetrable somehow, and this way it’s easier to keep his eyes focused on other things rather than the gossip occurring around him.

Damen guides him towards the Ravenclaw table without asking, which is thankfully pretty empty, and wordlessly they sit down and begin helping themselves to food. It’s oddly silent between them, and as Laurent casts an awkward sideways glance at Damen he can make out the lightest of pink flushes dusting his dark cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, unable to bear the quiet. It isn’t often it’s quiet between them, and for an awful split second Laurent worries he’s fucked up and gone too far. But then Damen looks up and locks his gaze, and then reaches forward and wipes a smear of sauce from Laurent’s chin with his thumb. Now it’s Laurent’s turn to flush, and he drops his head to try and hide it.

“Alright?” Damen asks lowly, as if Laurent didn’t ask him pretty much the exact same question moments ago. He shrugs in response.

“Is everyone still looking at us?”

Damen looks up and then down, shifting a little closer to Laurent on the bench. “Kind of,” he admits. “There aren’t that many people in here, to be fair.”

“Okay,” Laurent says. He keeps eating, perhaps a little faster than he usually would, head still down. Damen gently nudges his wrist against his and he stops mid-mouthful. “What?”

“Baby, relax” Damen murmurs as he picks up his fork. He spears a piece of chicken and pops it in his mouth. “See, look? This is how normal people eat their food.”

“I’m eating like a normal person,” says Laurent, affronted. “I’m a relatively normal person, and here I am, eating. What more do you want?”

“I can barely hear myself think over your rapid chewing,” Damen chides playfully. “And you’re thinking pretty loudly too. Tell me, is it  _ that  _ horrendous being here with me?”

Laurent swallows, the piece of potato in his mouth not quite chewed enough to go down comfortably. His throat hurts and he splutters a little as he answers, truthfully, “It’s not horrendous. But I don’t like being looked at.” Blushing again, he knocks his knee against Damen’s. “I do actually like being around you, you know. Don’t get a big head or anything but it’s true.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Damen grins, and in a move that seems to take both of them by surprise, he darts forward and smacks a kiss onto Laurent’s cheek. By now Laurent is very aware that his skin is positively  _ magenta _ , and somewhere behind them he thinks he hears a few Hufflepuffs coo at them, which makes him groan and head-butt Damen in the shoulder.

“What are we doing?” he groans. “What have you done to me?”

“I helped you fall in love,” Damen says simply, smirking and laughing as Laurent groans even louder and head-butts him again. “What? You love it, babe.”

Laurent does love Damen but he decides then and there he thoroughly hates whatever  _ it  _ is.

(He still blows Damen when they get back to his bedroom, and afterwards Damen jerks him off slowly until he’s a whimpering mess and he comes all over himself. Damen also leaves an impressively large mark on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and even though Laurent spends twenty minutes before breakfast whining at him about common decency, he decides he  _ probably  _ could care less. In fact, he kind of likes it. He’s just not going to tell Damen that.)

*

Gossip about their little scene at the dinner table spreads through the castle like wildfire, and by the time the infamous Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor rolls around, Laurent is convinced that even the teachers know. It looks as if bloody  _ Headmistress Granger  _ bloody knows, because she shoots him a coy smile as he walks past her out of the Great Hall that morning. His Ravendor scarf probably isn’t helping, but then again, for all everyone knows it could be for Auguste.

Damen isn’t around this morning – as Captain of the team he likes to rally his fellow players to the field early in the morning, where they have a picnic breakfast and talk tactics. In all his time as Captain – and as a player on the team, now Laurent thinks about it – he’s never once lost them a match, and he’s taken home the Quidditch cup two years running.

Laurent smiles into his bacon, stupidly proud as he thinks about what’s he’s about to watch. It’s not even a big match, not really, but to Damen every match is as important as the next. Quidditch is his true passion, and even though Laurent can sometimes find it a bit dull and a bit repetitive he could listen to Damen talk about it for hours and hours. Laurent isn’t sure if he’ll ever find anything in life that he’s as passionate about – maybe his books, or Herbology, his favourite subject by miles - but it doesn’t feel the same.

He eats alone, then trudges down slowly with the rest of the school to the Quidditch pitch. The November-time chill is thick in the air, and the grass the students crunch over is crispy with ice. Laurent himself, who is always cold, is wearing his scarf (of course), but also a hat that covers his ears, a thick coat with a toasty sheepskin lining, and a pair of leather gloves. Aside from his scarf he’ll sink comfortably into the crowd.

He sits on the same row as a few of the other Sixth Years, a few eyeing his scarf with curiosity and distaste. A couple of the Seventh Years make catty comments that he ignores, simply keeping his head turned forward towards the pitch. It’s not long before the horn blows and the teams start striding out, brooms over shoulders and arms up waving at the crowd. Even from this distance Laurent can see Damen’s grin, wide and proud. He waves around the pitch, but he takes a little longer as his eyes glaze over the Ravenclaw stands. He spots Laurent and blows a kiss in his direction.

“Fucking hell, the rumours are true,” a loud Fifth Year grumbles. “As if he turned gay for someone like  _ Laurent _ , bloody hell.”

“Tell me about it,” their friend replies. “Remember when he was dating that gorgeous girl in the year above him, what was her name? Jokaste? And now that she’s gone he had his pick of the school and he goes for  _ him _ ? What’s that about?”

“Suppose he has got a bit of a look about him,” the first says. “Blonde and quite pretty, but probably not much underneath.”

_ Don’t reply. Don’t sink to their level. It’s not worth it. _

Luckily for Laurent, he doesn’t have time to dwell because the teams are lining up and preparing to mount their brooms. Damen strides into the centre and shakes hands with the Ravenclaw Captain, a pretty blonde Chaser named Loyse, then they both step back to their own lines and summon their brooms into their hands. Damen mounts, Madame Hooch blows the whistle, and they’re off.

Gryffindor take possession of the Quaffle pretty quickly and one of their Chasers zooms across the pitch at speed with it tucked under her arm. She scores in the first thirty seconds to the cheer of the whole crowd, and Laurent can’t help but feel rather fond as he watches Auguste zoom over to where Damen is hovering in front of the goal posts and high-five him. Suddenly, the Quaffle is in Ravenclaw possession and Auguste nose-dives his way out of there. Damen, all focus, grips his broom with both hands and drops a little south of the hoop it looks as if the Chaser is aiming towards, then swoops up and does a loop-de-loop that sees the Quaffle go flying away from the goalposts and towards his Gryffindor teammates, where it’s seized by Nikandros, the team’s best and only returning Chaser.

Damen is absolutely in his element on the Quidditch pitch, and loathed as Laurent is to admit it Gryffindor are absolutely battering Ravenclaw to pieces. Within ten minutes they’re sixty points up and Damen has blocked both of the shots that Ravenclaw have tried to make. Laurent finds himself stuck between pure irritation that Damen is so fucking good at kicking his House’s ass and unrivalled pride. People around him are still grumbling out shitty comments but it’s easy enough to drown them out, especially as Damen blocks an impressive throw that makes Laurent’s breath hitch, certain they were about to score. A collective grumble goes around the Ravenclaw supporters, but Laurent definitely hears one groan, “Fucking hell, he’s really bloody good, ain’t he?”

The Ravenclaw team are looking crosser and crosser with every minute that passes, and after twenty minutes of play there’s still no sign of the Snitch. The score is eighty points to ten, Damen having been more focused on dodging a zooming Bludger than where the Quaffle was. Auguste is leisurely bumbling around the pitch, lapping the Chasers every few minutes, and for all its raucousness it actually looks calm for a split second. Teams shout commands to one another and the Quaffle is tossed between the Ravenclaw Chasers…

…and then Auguste leans forward and manoeuvres his broom at speed towards one of the goalposts.

Orlant, the Ravenclaw Seeker, whizzes after him and Laurent finds himself holding his breath, consumed with nerves. So focused is he on watching his brother that he almost misses the two Bludgers that Torveld, one of the Ravenclaw Beaters, fires at Damen in quick succession. The first hits him in the stomach – Laurent spins in his seat when he hears the crowd’s screeches of protest and he watches in horror as Damen grips his broom and drops a couple of feet, clearly winded. And then comes the second, and it smacks him  _ hard  _ in the side of the head, and suddenly, like it’s happening in slow motion Damen’s falling…

Falling…

Falling…

Someone begins to scream, and it’s only once a hand starts to shake at his shoulder that Laurent realises the screams are coming from him. And then he’s out of his seat, running down the stairs and onto the pitch at a speed he’s never quite reached in all of his life. When he reaches the field Madame Hooch is already in the middle of the pitch, wand in the air, and whatever spell she casts manages to halt Damen’s body  _ just  _ before he reaches the ground. The whole arena has come to a complete standstill, but Laurent can just make out the collective sigh of relief over the ringing in his ears that comes from every student and teacher there, even the Ravenclaws. He doesn’t care to think about etiquette here (or the fact that there’s still technically a game of Quidditch going on above him), so he dashes forward to where Madame Hooch is hovering over Damen’s body.

“Damen,” he croaks weakly, dropping to his knees. The whole school is watching him and he has never cared about anything less in his life. Damen’s unconscious, and when Laurent touches his hair his fingers come away red. He looks up at Madame Hooch frantically, but instead of words all that manages to leave his mouth is a sob. “ _ Damen.” _

“You shouldn’t be here,” Madame Hooch tells him shakily, but there’s not a trace of anger behind it, just concern. “He needs to go to the Hospital Wing,  _ now _ , so I think we’ll…”

“ _ Laurent. _ ”

“Damen,” Laurent whimpers uselessly again, but the voice isn’t Damen’s. It’s Auguste’s, who discards his broom somewhere to the side and runs towards him, wrapping his arms around his brother’s shoulders, trying to move him to the side.

“Come on, Laurent, it’s not safe, come with me…”

“ _ No _ ,” Laurent protests, fighting against Auguste’s hold. But Auguste is strong, and determined, and Laurent is seconds away from crumbling. “No, no, Auguste, let me  _ go,  _ he’s  _ bleeding…” _

“Come with me,” Auguste says again, calmly, and practically hauls Laurent out of the way of the landing brooms, over to a bench on the side of the pitch. He’s muddy and sweaty and doesn’t look so well himself, but he keeps his arm tight around Laurent’s shoulders, squeezing hard each time Laurent tries to stand up. “Stay here, come on. You’ll just get in the way.”

“Fuck you,” Laurent hisses before he bursts into tears, and he sits there, uselessly crying in Auguste’s arms while Damen is carried out on a stretcher and back towards the castle. The game is officially suspended until further notice, Torveld dragged into detention, and the students begin to trudge back up towards the school in disbelief. Laurent, Auguste, and Nikandros all hang back however, because the last thing they want is to get caught up in any chat that’ll make them angry (or in Laurent’s case, make him cry again), despite the fact that Laurent wants nothing more than to bolt to the Hospital Wing.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Nikandros says, bewildered. It’s freezing cold and his hands have turned blue. “That was deliberate, right? He was pissed at Damen for something.”

“Yeah, because Damen’s the captain of the better team,” Auguste grumbles. “And probably because he’s new and thinks he can get away with that shit.”

“Still,” Nikandros sighs, rubbing his palms together, “He’s not gonna get away with just a detention, right?”

“I hope not,” Auguste agrees. “Damen could have died.”

“Damen could be dead right now for all we know,” Laurent protests. “Can we go back up to the fucking castle please?”

“He’s not dead,” Auguste tuts, but he stands up and straightens out his rumpled, ruined Quidditch robes. “Nik, you coming?”

“Of course,” Nikandros replies, reaching for his broom. Auguste grabs his and the three of them make their move back towards the castle. Once they’re part of the way up the hill, Nikandros says quietly, “I didn’t realise you and him were so serious.”

“What?” Laurent says, snapping his head up. Nikandros holds up his hands.

“I said, I didn’t realise you two were so serious,” he repeats.

“You don’t have to be in a serious relationship with someone to not want them to die,” Laurent snaps. Auguste rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Laurent, be nice.”

“I’ll be nice when I see Damen,” Laurent spits. “Who, yes, I happen to be in love with. Did you not know? Are you the only person in this bloody place who doesn’t get involved in gossip?”

“I knew you were together,” Nikandros replies calmly. “He’s been a lovesick twat since the term started. I just didn’t know you were that serious. It’s… it’s nice. You make him happy.”

“I…” Laurent starts, ready to make another catty comment, but he stops himself. “Oh.”

“My little brother got married before I did,” Auguste cries dramatically, but it’s a joke that falls flat because Laurent freezes –  _ marriage,  _ for fuck’s sake, that’s not something he’s ready to even think about, and right now he’s still half-convinced that Damen’s not going to wake up anyway. Before Auguste or Nikandros can say anything else, Laurent breaks into a run and legs it up the hill, ignoring the shouts behind him. He moves across the grounds and up the stairs to the main entrance, shoving past fellow students and the occasional ghost in his haste to just get to Damen’s side.

By the time he reaches the Hospital Wing he’s completely out of breath, wheezing and coughing, lungs desperate for oxygen. Madame Pomfrey takes one look at him and bristles, dragging him inside to an empty chair. She plonks him down, but he stands straight up again.

“Where’s Damen?”

Before Madame Pomfrey can even open her mouth to respond, there’s a “Laurent?” called across from the other side of the wing, hollow and echoey as it bounces off the high walls. “Is that you?”

“Damen,” he yelps, scrabbling past Madame Pomfrey and towards the voice. Damen’s in the bed right at the very back, head wrapped in a thick white bandage stained here and there with blood. He still looks as beautiful as Laurent has ever seen him, and he’s a little ungracious in the way he just topples into his arms and clings to him, arms around neck, face pressed to shoulder, lips pressed to whatever part of him he can reach.

“Mind the bruises!” shrills Madame Pomfrey, hurrying up behind them and glaring, her hands on her hips. But Laurent ignores her, tucking his face into Damen’s neck and taking a deep breath. Damen smells disgusting, but he still smells enough like Damen for Laurent to relax a little. He’s  _ alive. _

“You’re alive,” he says stupidly, sounding a little too in awe. Damen snorts and pats at the back of his head.

“I’m alive,” he chuckles, and he pulls back just enough to look at Laurent properly. “I wasn’t going to die, you big drama queen. It’s just a bump on the head.”

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Laurent whines, then moves in to hug him again. Madame Pomfrey squawks and starts to fuss but Laurent stays put, only moving when Damen says, “Babe? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Maybe you should stay on your broom next time.”

Madame Pomfrey lets out a noise of disgust but blessedly Damen laughs harder, his beautiful ugly cackle ringing loud across the whole wing. It’s almost enough to make Laurent smile.

“Horrid boy,” Madame Pomfrey grumbles as she trudges off. Now it’s become clear that Laurent has no intention of leaving she leaves the pair alone, bustling off to make Damen some tea with some sleeping draft in it. Damen gingerly rolls onto his side and reaches out, lacing his fingers with Laurent’s. Laurent brings his hand up to his lips and kisses it, soft.

“For the record I didn’t nearly die,” Damen says gruffly. He looks tired, a little forlorn, but still gorgeous. “I haven’t even got a concussion.”

“If you’d have died I would have killed you,” Laurent says shortly. He sighs and presses Damen’s hand to his cheek. “Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again, Damen, I swear to Godric…”

“I don’t plan to,” Damen says, smiling and then wincing. Laurent freezes. “Ow, fuck, my head hurts.”

“You also got hit pretty hard in the stomach,” Laurent supplies. “How are you feeling there?”

“I just ache all over,” Damen says with a groan. “And this bed is bloody uncomfortable. I can’t wait to be able to lie in our bed and feel sorry for myself in comfort.”

“How long do you have to stay here?” Laurent asks, not letting himself think about Damen’s use of the phrase ‘our bed’. If he thinks too hard he’ll probably hurt himself. It’s been that sort of a day.

“They want to keep me here overnight to make sure I’m okay, but with any luck I’ll be out of here tomorrow,” Damen says. “No classes for a week too.” He winks over-exaggeratedly. “You gonna be my sexy nurse?”

Laurent tuts and rolls his eyes. “Dream on, Damianos.”

“Oh, I will,” Damen says coyly, wriggling his fingers inside Laurent’s. Then he winces again and hisses in pain, and Laurent almost calls for Madame Pomfrey. “I’m fine, babe, I’m honestly fine. Just a bit achey.”

“How long have you been awake? Have you had plenty of painkillers? Have you had any food or water, and do you want another blanket or…?”

“Laurent, I’m really fine,” Damen assures with a squeeze of his hand. “I’m just a bit achey but I think that’s normal when you take a flying Bludger to the head.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been thick enough to get into that position,” Laurent snaps, then sighs. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m just… I really, really lost it out there. Auguste had to, like, drag me away from you and you were  _ lying  _ there all limp and you were  _ bleeding… _ ”

Brows furrowed, Damen cuts in and asks, “wait, you were on the pitch?”

Laurent stops rambling and blushes. “I mean… kind of?” He rolls his eyes. “Oh, stop looking at me like that. You fell out of the  _ sky. _ ”

“I love you,” Damen says, and he tugs Laurent’s wrist until he moves forward enough to join their lips. Laurent gently cups Damen’s cheek, cautious of hurting him, and presses as close as he dares before Madame Pomfrey’s tutting pulls them apart.

“Drink this,” she commands, thrusting an ornamental teacup topped with liquid that smells like lemon and ginger towards Damen. “It’ll help you sleep.”

“Does Laurent have to leave?” Damen asks as he accepts it. “Thank you, by the way.”

“He really shouldn’t be here, especially not… leaning all over you like that,” Madame Pomfrey says, frowning. But Damen blinks up at her through his long lashes while he sips his tea, and she sighs. “Alright. He can stay here until you fall asleep.”

“Can I come and see him in the morning?” Laurent asks, voice like syrup. He gets a glare in return. “Well, somebody’s going to need to escort him back to his room. It’s Sunday and he has a head injury. He might fall and hurt himself.”

“Nine AM,” is all Madame Pomfrey says before she sweeps off, leaving the pair alone. Damen sets his teacup on the bedside table and covers his mouth with his hand as he yawns, before slipping it back into Laurent’s.

“Sleepy,” he hums, and then, “have I mentioned that I love you?”

“Mmm, once or twice,” Laurent replies. He kisses Damen’s hand again. “Sleep, Damianos. I’ll come see you in the morning.”

“Love you,” Damen mumbles again, then goes limp. Laurent tenses a little, his head still all over the place, but within moments Damen lets out an almighty snore. It’s the kind of thing he’d usually boot him for in bed, but it settles him enough to drop his hand and lean forward where he presses a kiss on his forehead. Damen looks wonderfully peaceful like this, face blank and free of all today’s stresses and worries, and Laurent has half a mind to neck what’s left in the mug so he goes to sleep as easily. He has a feeling he’ll have a tough time getting to sleep tonight.

Damen sleeps, and he only lingers for a bit before he heads out of there, murmuring a thank-you that neither he or Madame Pomfrey were expecting. He makes his way up the stairs, but he doesn’t find himself at Ravenclaw Tower like he figured he was going, but to the Head Boy and Girl quarters portrait hole. Luckily he knows the password, so he makes his way inside, clipping up the stairs and into Damen’s room –  _ our room –  _ where he tumbles onto the bed, still fully clothed.

He's asleep before his head hits the pillow.

*

He wakes up slowly, burning hot all over. But the bed is cold beside him, and when he reaches out into the darkness his fingers touch nothing. For a split second he panics, and then remembers. He bites his lip and takes a deep breath, a painful reminder.

_ He’s okay. _

_ He’s going to be okay. _

_ Your happiness is going to be okay. _

He removes his heavy clothes and settles back into bed, Damen’s side, skin cooling against the untouched sheets. It smells familiar, comforting, homely, and he snuggles down and tries to imagine Damen’s there. It’s doesn’t work but he’s able to drift in and out of sleep until the sun rises, and once he’s prodded Auguste to fetch them both some food from the breakfast table he goes to collect Damen. Once back in their room he doesn’t even eat any of the feast Auguste has somehow managed to provide, he simply falls asleep with his head resting on Damen’s shoulder, where he sleeps better than he has in days.

*

Damen has a scar.

He has several scars actually – there’s the two on his hand from where the brute once accidentally picked up a steak knife the wrong way around. There’s also one on his chest where he fell off his broomstick when he was eleven. He has another on the side of his neck where he managed to backfire a spell in Charms once and sparks hit his skin, and he also has a couple on his ankle where his cat scratched him. There are a few on his back he doesn’t know how he got, and sometimes Laurent traces them with his fingers while he sleeps. They’re a part of Damen and they’re familiar, memories of his childhood and teenage years that he can recount easily, fondly.

Laurent’s scars are a lot less fond and buried a little deeper, under his skin and hidden from view on purpose. He’s happy for them to stay that way, at least for now, because it’s still not the right time to tell Damen about them and if he doesn’t tell him then Damen won’t know they’re there. Granted, he knows Damen is curious about his nightmares and his quiet periods, but he’s kind enough not to press so for now they’re staying hidden.

One of the things he likes about Damen’s scars is that they’re visible. Damen is a very open person by nature, trusting and honest, and if you ask him a question he’ll tell you the truth. If you ask him how he got the scars on his hand he’ll tell you the story in more words than necessary, then laugh with you at his own stupidity. If you ask him to help you with your homework he’ll sit and study the subject beforehand to try and help. And if you ask him to tell you he loves you he’ll tell you a hundred times, with added extra sappiness in between.

Well, at least he does for Laurent.

The morning after Damen comes home Laurent wakes up first, face pressed hard into Damen’s shoulder. He straightens up and allows his clumsy limbs to come awake slowly, then settles himself back against the pillows on his side of the bed. Damen snuffles a little as he unwinds his arm from where it was resting around his middle, but stays asleep. Laurent’s glad. He’s beautiful in sleep.

He nuzzles a little into Damen’s sweaty skin, a little damp and radiating warmth.  It’s out of habit that Laurent reaches up to tease Damen’s sleep-mused curls, running his fingers through them carefully and gently. He doesn’t want Damen to wake up yet, but he wants them to feel close and comfortable and this is one of his favourite things to do in the early mornings. Laurent has always been the kind of person where once awake he can’t go back to sleep, but Damen could turn sleeping into an Olympic sport. They also have very different sleeping patterns – Laurent has always been an early rester and an early riser, whereas Damen prefers to go to sleep whenever he’s tired, then wakes whenever he pleases. Recently he’s been making more of an effort to go to bed when Laurent does, but he’ll still sleep for an hour or two longer, easily.

So it’s not often that Laurent wakes up and spends time in bed with Damen, because often just lying there with nothing to occupy his thoughts will let said thoughts drift to a time when he was forced into sharing a bed with someone different, but this morning he’s conscious to stay. Damen’s been hurt and he doesn’t want to leave him waking up alone. So he stays and he plays with Damen’s hair for a lot longer than he usually would.

And that’s when he spots the scar.

It’s not big, granted, but it’s still there. There’s still a little dried blood clinging to it, a little caked in his hair – Damen had claimed to be so bone-tired last night that he didn’t want to do anything other than tumble into his bed and cuddle, so he didn’t end up showering. Laurent feels his own blood go cold as he stares and stares at it, this now permanent reminder of Damen’s ordeal that he’ll wear forever. It’s there, it’s always going to be there, and every time Laurent goes to play with Damen’s hair he’ll be reminded of it, of Damen falling, falling, falling...

Damen won’t even be able to see the scar unless he looks in a mirror, and it’s mostly hidden by his hair, so the only person who will see it on a regular basis will be Laurent. And that  _ hurts _ , it hurts a lot, and he knows that everyone is going to think him daft if he ever voices how big of a deal this feels. But then again not many other people can say they saw the love of their life tumble from the sky and not many people have watched the love of their life bleed out on the Quidditch pitch from afar while nobody would give them a straight answer as to how they were doing.

Laurent suddenly really wants Damen to wake up, but he doesn’t shake him or pinch him or start sucking a lovebite into his skin like he normally would. Instead he curls up closer into his side, links their hands together and waits, all the while drinking in the friendly, familiar, comforting sound of Damen’s beating heart. He might be late for class, he might not. He finds he doesn’t much care. The only thing that matters is being here, at least for now.

He feels like an idiot as Damen starts to stir a little later – he inhales sharply, makes a garbled sound and blinks his eyes open slowly. His face is the picture of happiness, big eyes and a soft grin, when he realises Laurent is still so close, and he clumsily adjusts their positions so they’re pressed comfy and close, chest to chest.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning, lover,” Laurent mumbles back, fisting a hand in Damen’s sleep shirt. Damen smells awful, like sweat and dirt and hospital, but still he clings. “I missed you.”

Damen starts to laugh and it becomes a yawn, blowing some truly awful morning breath in Laurent’s direction. It’s unlike Laurent not to make a cutting comment about it, but he doesn’t, and it’s enough to make Damen frown.

“You okay, darling?” he asks, hand tangling in Laurent’s head. He tilts his head up to meet his eyes and scans his face. “You look…”

“Like shit?” Laurent offers, pasting on a fake smile.

“Like you’ve got something troubling you,” Damen amends, stroking a thumb over his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Laurent answers truthfully, because he’d rather go about his day and forget. “I want a kiss though.”

“A kiss if you tell me what’s wrong?”

Letting out a sound that’s an odd mix between a groan and a sigh, Laurent is only half lying when he mutters, “I just… I can’t stop picturing you falling from the sky, alright? It was probably one of the worst moments of my life.”

“Baby,” Damen says sadly. He presses a kiss to Laurent’s forehead. “I’m alive. I’m so alive right now and nothing’s going to change that.”

“Yes, but…” Laurent trails off and glares up at Damen, because once again he  _ doesn’t understand.  _ “But what if you’d…”

“Nobody was going to let me,” Damen tells him. He’s stroking through Laurent’s hair now, and Laurent is a little torn before wanting to purr and wanting to boot Damen in the dick. “Madame Hooch is pretty good and has almost definitely had to do that before, and regardless, nobody has died in Quidditch at Hogwarts before. Believe me, I would know.”

“That’s not the point,” Laurent huffs. “I would… look, I know I’m being weird or whatever but you have to understand that I don’t know what I would have done if…”

“Awww,” Damen coos, kissing the corner of Laurent’s mouth. “I should almost die more often if that’s what it takes for you to be sappy.”

“Fuck you,” Laurent spits, pushing himself out of Damen’s arms and shuffling out of bed. Damen’s still grinning, propping himself up on his elbows in their bed as he watches Laurent dress himself and brush his hair. “Damen, seriously. Stop looking at me like that. Your joke wasn’t funny.”

“I just love you.” Damen follows his statement with a lazy shrug, and then, “you should come back to bed and tell me you love me too.”

Laurent rolls his eyes. “I do love you, you twat. But I’ve got to go.”

Damen pouts. “But I want to cuddle.”

Laurent snorts. “See you at breakfast?”

“Or you could bring me breakfast,” Damen muses, fluttering his lashes. He looks absolutely ridiculous and Laurent snorts again, resting his hands on his hips. “Oh, go on, baby. Please?”

“We’ll see,” Laurent sing songs, reaching to grab his cloak off the hook on the back of the door. “I said I’d eat breakfast with Auguste.”

“Ah,” Damen nods. “So you’ll be hours?”

“Not hours, Damen, it is Monday,” Laurent tells him. “Some of us have lessons.”

“I don’t have lessons,” Damen grins, flopping back against the pillows. “Gosh, I wonder what I can do with all this spare time. I wonder if I should sleep, or eat, or…”

“You could study,” Laurent says dryly.

“I could,” Damen drawls, stretching out the syllable for much longer than necessary, “or I could have a nap.”

“Fucking arsehole,” Laurent growls, then clips out of there without another word. He flips the bird over his shoulder as Damen cries, “Don’t forget to bring me some toast!” and mumbles something about finding a new boyfriend under his breath as he pushes through the portrait hole. He doesn’t actually know what time it is, but from the way most students seem to be migrating either to or from the Great Hall, he guesses it’s still relatively early. He hears his name a few times, hears Damen’s a few more, but he makes a conscious effort to ignore it all as he moves straight towards the Gryffindor table and his brother.

“There you are,” Auguste chirps merrily as Laurent swings his legs over onto the bench and reaches for a plate. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“Damen was being needy,” Laurent tells him, reaching for the bacon. He pops a few rashers onto his plate, then reaches for the scrambled eggs. “Being injured doesn’t suit him.”

Auguste snorts. “Bet he’s loving it, the brute. He does love attention and honour and all that shit.”

“You’re telling me,” Laurent snorts. “He’s off lessons all week, you know. He didn’t even injure himself that bad.”

“Suppose it’s the least the school had to do,” Auguste ponders. “Like, it’s all anyone is talking about still.”

“And me,” Laurent mutters, hiding his head by focusing on his meal.

“Wait, what?” Auguste says, nudging his brother with his knee. “What did you say?”

Laurent sighs and stabs at his eggs with his fork. “I said, I’ve become the talk of Hogwarts, haven’t I?”

Auguste’s brows furrow. “Not that I know of,” he says slowly. “A few of the lads in my dorm asked me about you and him, asked if you were serious or whatever, but I’ve not heard many others.”

“I heard my name at least six times on the walk here,” says Laurent flatly. “I heard Damen’s a few more times, granted, but they don’t need to know mine. It’s the whole ‘oh look, there goes that guy who lost his shit when Damen fell off his broom’ gossip thing.”

“It’s just unexpected if you’ve not been around you guys, I guess?” Auguste questions. “I dunno, Laurent. You know if anyone gives you hell then I’ll give them hell back.”

“Thanks,” Laurent mutters dryly. “But I don’t need you to fight my battles, Auguste. You and Damen can have such a hero complex over me sometimes and it’s…”

“Oi,” a voice calls loudly across the Great Hall, swiftly cutting Laurent off. “Hey, blondie.”

“Me?” Laurent wonders aloud. He’s confused. “Who’s talking to me?”

“Piss off, Govart,” Auguste says loudly, before Laurent’s eyes have even settled on the brute. And he really is a brute; tall, ugly and sneering, with a shock of dark hair and lips turned up in a wicked expression. He’s a Slytherin Seventh Year, one that Auguste and Damen have never talked about too fondly, but he’s never spoken to Laurent in all their time at Hogwarts.

“What do you want?” he asks, and it comes out a little more defensive than he’d hoped. “Do I even know you?”

“You’re the one spreading his legs for Damen every night, aren’t you?” Govart spits, crawling right over to the Gryffindor table and glaring. He has a few cronies behind him, but Laurent doesn’t recognise a single one. “You’re the one who turned him into a batty boy, right?”

“Get lost, you fucking prick,” Auguste glowers, rising to his feet. “What do you want, eh? To start a fight with someone whose boyfriend would kick your sorry arse?”

“Ah, but where is he?” Govart asks, looking smug. Laurent chooses that moment to stand up, and he rolls his eyes as Govart’s expression changes to positively delighted. “Oh, so pretty boy does want a fight?”

“Pretty boy wants you to bugger off,” Laurent drawls. “Pretty boy doesn’t know who you are or what you want, so kindly leave and let me eat my breakfast in peace.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Govart replies. “See, what I think is that the only way someone like Damen would want someone like you is if you were popping something in his pumpkin juice every morning. You’re a bit weird and a bit funny looking, you see.”

Unable to stop himself, Laurent says, “well, at least I’m still getting regularly fucked and I don’t have to Confund someone into sleeping with me. I imagine you do; I mean, I probably would have to if I had a face like yours.”

“Do you want to say that again?” Govart growls.

“I think you heard me the first time,” Laurent says, then drops back down into his seat and takes a swig of his tea. “Auguste, come on. We were eating breakfast and having a conversation.”

Without warning, Govart reaches forward across the table and swipes Laurent’s plate of eggs and bacon, holding it above their heads like a primary school bully. By now the entire Great Hall is watching, and Laurent is just starting to wonder what the hell is about to happen (and where all the teachers are) when Damen comes strolling in.

“Hello, darling. Hey, Auguste,” he greets merrily, sliding down onto the bench so he’s on Laurent’s other side. A radio silence stretches across the hall, and Damen’s eyes move from his boyfriend to Auguste and finally reach Govart, who is now eating Laurent’s bacon with his fingers. “Can I help you?”

“I don’t know, Damianos, can you?” Govart asks, grease staining his chin. Laurent feels quite repulsed just looking at him, and he’s more than a little pleased when Damen drops a heavy arm around his shoulders. “Me and Lorenzo here were just discussing a few things, weren’t we?”

“Who is Lorenzo?” Damen asks stupidly, then twigs. Laurent rolls his eyes again and can’t decide if it’s aimed more at Damen or Govart. “Oh, you mean Laurent? You know his name is Laurent, right?”

“Don’t care,” Govart chomps. Damen makes a confused sound and turns to Laurent.

“Babe, I’m so confused.”

“You and me both,” Laurent confesses. “I don’t know who this guy is. I thought you’d pissed him off or something.”

“Oh,” Damen replies, shrugging. He turns back to Govart. “So do you want something or…?”

“I want to know why golden boy Damianos is now dating this prig,” Govart grits out, “when you could have had the pick of every girl at Hogwarts. I mean, come on, he was clearly a virgin when you met him, can he be that good? Does he take your dick that well?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Auguste near shouts. “What the fuck has my brother ever done to you?”

“Auguste,” Laurent hisses. “It’s fine. As I said, he’s just bitter that he’s only got his fist to fuck.”

“Like you’ve ever been the one to fuck anything in your life, you little whore,” Govart sneers.

“ _ Hey, _ ” both Auguste and Damen shout at once. Damen drops his arm from Laurent’s shoulders and rises to his feet. “Don’t you fucking dare speak to him like that. It’s none of your business if we’ve never fucked or if we fuck ten times a day.”

“Why are you still here?” growls Auguste. “You’re not impressing anybody.”

“You’re right, this is boring,” Govart says, then pretends to fall backwards to the ground. One of his friends starts shrieking Damen’s name dramatically, then he drops to the floor and shakes his shoulders for a couple of seconds before Govart sits up and they both laugh. “Have fun being faggots, you faggots.”

Blood boiling, Laurent doesn’t realise he’s broken his mug until Auguste grabs his hand and starts dabbing at it with a napkin, the skin a little broken at the top of his palm. Damen sits there, stunned, mouth flapping rather uselessly open and closed as he stares at the brothers. The Great Hall is stony silent; most of the other students in there seem to be wearing a similar expression to Damen, until…

“Well, say something, you useless lout,” Laurent snaps finally, snatching his hand back from Auguste and glaring. “Fucking  _ hell,  _ Damen.”

“I…  _ what? _ ” Damen blurts, snapping out of whatever trance he was in. “What are you shouting at me for?”

“I don’t know,” Laurent shouts. He throws his hands up in the air and pushes himself off the bench, stalking away from the table and the hundreds of prying eyes that are still trained on him. He doesn’t get very far, however, because both Auguste and Damen are hot on his heels and corner him before he can even get to the main staircase. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” Damen asks, incredulous. “What just happened back there? Why was he in your face like that?”

“Because, Damen, we’re the talk of the whole bloody school,” Laurent replies haughtily, crossing his arms so Damen can’t try and take his hand. He’s furious, confused, and miserable, but for some reason the last thing he wants is Damen holding him. He feels claustrophobic in a way he never has at Hogwarts and it’s all Damen’s fault. “Apparently if you freak out that your boyfriend might die in the middle of a game of Quidditch then you immediately get promoted to front page of the school gossip column, and nobody will leave me alone.”

Damen takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay,” he says slowly, like he’s mulling it over. Laurent really wants to kick him. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Yes,” Laurent says definitively, then makes a move to go up the stairs. “Do not follow me. I might see you tonight.”

“You might?” Damen challenges, moving up one step on the staircase. Laurent moves up another three. “Baby…”

“I said do  _ not  _ follow me,” Laurent growls, then scuttles off before Damen can challenge him again. He hears Auguste say something indistinguishable behind him, and as he rounds a corner he watches the pair of them meander back in the direction of the Great Hall, both with slumped shoulders. Laurent finds he doesn’t much care. He’s just so  _ sick  _ of being the school laughing stock already.

People are definitely still talking about him during his lessons – he manages to sit through Charms without saying a single word to anybody, and then it’s time for Herbology, his absolute favourite. He refuses to have his favourite double lesson of the week ruined for him, so he throws himself into it. They’re working with Snargaluff plants today, a quiet creature that looks like a tree-stump. While usually still, sometimes they can attack by shooting out vines when they feel provoked, so they’re instructed to partner up. Laurent reluctantly moves across the greenhouse to work alongside a rather drippy-looking girl whose name he doesn’t know. He grunts an awkward greeting and pulls on his dragon-hide gloves, moving past her to get started with their project, which is to extract their pods.

It’s pretty clear his mind isn’t in it though, because within seconds there are hands on his shoulders yanking him backwards, and he stumbles, managing to dart out of the way just in time before one of the vines darts out in his direction. He drops the pod he was holding and it shatters, green liquid going all over his shoes and trousers. He swears loudly and jerks himself out of the grasp of his partner, taking another step back to avoid standing in the liquid again.

“I… thank you,” he mumbles as he collects himself. Not for the first time today he’s aware of everyone’s eyes on him, and he finds himself glaring instinctively at as many of them as he can before he feels another hand on his shoulder. He jumps, but the hand stays firm, and when Professor Longbottom starts speaking he realises that it’s okay.

“You all need to keep your eyes on the Snargaluff at all times, so stop looking at us and start looking at them,” he commands. Laurent bows his head. Then, in Laurent’s ear, Professor Longbottom whispers, “do you want to have a word in my office?”

“I…” Laurent starts, which is apparently answer enough for Professor Longbottom.

“Kyrina, do you fancy working with Makedon and Meniados over there?” he asks, his voice firm, making clear she doesn’t really have a choice. She nods and scampers off, and Professor Longbottom tilts his head to one side and beckons Laurent after him. Laurent follows, keeping his head low, and once Professor Longbottom has closed the door behind them he sinks into a seat and hides his face in his hands.

Laurent has always liked Professor Longbottom. He learned pretty early on in First Year that Herbology was something he had a real flair for, and since then he and Professor Longbottom have had a good rapport with one another. Not the kind of teacher to play favourites, Professor Longbottom has however always come across as exceedingly pleased to find someone who loves his subject, and he’s always been generous with house points to Ravenclaw in Laurent’s name. They’ve had a few one to ones over the years, and normally Laurent finds the man to be pleasant company, but today his head is just all over the place and he worries he’s about to be scolded.

“Laurent,” he hears the Professor say, slowly, “Laurent, look at me.”

He looks up, blinking back unwilled tears, and looks at him. Professor Longbottom has a kind face, almost a little dopey, and he grins at Laurent in a way that shows off his snaggletooth. Laurent instantly relaxes. “Hi, Professor.”

“Hi,” Professor Longbottom echoes. “Are you okay?”

_ Now doesn’t that feel like the million Galleon question?  _ Laurent thinks to himself. He coughs. “I… um, I think so?”

“You think so?” Professor Longbottom challenges, though his tone isn’t mad, more curious. “You can’t answer yes or no?”

Laurent stays quiet.

“Look, Laurent, normally I wouldn’t pry this deeply into any of my student’s lives,” Professor Longbottom sighs, “but to watch one of my best students have the weekend that he did and then make a mistake as rookie as the one you just did…” He trails off, and Laurent groans and buries his face back in his hands. “Laurent. It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“I’m sorry about dropping the Snargaluff pod,” he mumbles, for lack of anything else to say.

“Oh, to hell with the Snargaluff pod.” Professor Longbottom stands up and moves behind his desk. He strokes his fingers over a couple of the plants there, then picks up the miniature watering can he keeps next to his quill pot. “Look, Laurent, I was at the Quidditch match too. I saw what you saw.”

“Oh.” Laurent doesn’t offer anything else, and it’s quiet for a few minutes.

“Laurent,” Professor Longbottom says again for probably the thousandth time. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Okay…” Laurent says slowly. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“I fell in love at Hogwarts too, you know,” the Professor tells him. Laurent looks up curiously and he nods. “I did. My wife’s name is Hannah. She was in Hufflepuff and I was a Gryffindor.”

“Pardon me, Professor, but the issue with my relationship isn’t that we’re in two different houses,” Laurent says dryly. Professor Longbottom snorts.

“I never said it was. I was just giving you some back story.”

“Oh,” Laurent says again. “Sorry.”

Professor Longbottom waves his hand. “I didn’t realise I was in love with her until after we’d left Hogwarts. I hadn’t… well. You must know the story of the battle of Hogwarts.” Laurent nods. “Well, I was there and so was she. She wasn’t as close to Harry Potter and Hermione… I mean, Headmistress Granger as I was but she still helped. And we just happened to get chatting in the aftermath and she needed a place to stay, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“That’s nice,” Laurent says sincerely, and then, “does this apply to Damen and I somehow?”

“I don’t know Damen but I know you,” says Professor Longbottom sagely. “And I think you’re an incredible smart young man, perhaps one of the smartest I’ve ever taught.”

“Thank you?”

“My  _ point,”  _ Professor Longbottom says at long last, “is that you’re not acting like yourself recently, and I think you’re beating yourself up about it because you suspect Damen is the one who is making you act like this. I’ve not seen you make a mistake in Herbology class ever, and while I can’t speak for your other teachers, I can’t imagine you’re any less fastidious and dedicated in all your other lessons. But what happened on Saturday can’t have been easy, Laurent, and you’re absolutely allowed to feel a little muddled for a bit.”

“It’s not even muddled, I…” Laurent cuts himself off and shakes his head. “The whole school keeps looking at me like I’m some kind of animal on display. Someone who I’ve never spoken to stormed up to me at breakfast and called me a homophobic slur. I can’t…” He hangs his head again. “Sir, I don’t know what to do.”

“Who called you the homophobic slur?” Professor Longbottom demands, dropping back into his seat. “Because they can lose fifty house points straight off the bat.”

“I think his name was Govart,” Laurent mumbles, “but anyway. I’m just… Damen was barely injured at all but I just saw it happening, so I bolted down there and sat with him and just did what came instinctively. And now it’s like people just can’t comprehend him and me being in a relationship. It’s… bizarre.”

“And it’s playing on your mind,” adds Professor Longbottom. It’s not a question. “Which is absolutely understandable, Laurent. Maybe just take some time with Damen to talk it over, discuss what you want out of this relationship.” There’s a pause. “I know it’s not any of my business, but I’m guessing you love him.”

“I do,” Laurent replies quietly. “I love him very much. I just… I also shouted at him this morning, I dunno. Everything feels like a lot today.”

“You’re allowed to feel a little off kilter when you’ve watched your boyfriend fall a hundred feet off a broom,” Professor Longbottom tells him.

“This is what I keep thinking, but, like, Damen is so unaffected, or at least he’s acting like he is, so I…”

“You are not Damen,” Professor Longbottom butts in gently. “No offence to the bloke because, you know, he’s the one that did the falling, but he didn’t watch it happen. Maybe if he reversed the situation and saw you fall like that then he’d get it. But don’t beat yourself up, Laurent. As I said, you’re a bright kid, but you don’t have to have a stiff upper lip your entire life. And if you can let your guard down around anyone, well, it should be someone like your partner who you trust.”

“I… thank you, Professor,” Laurent says, nodding a little. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Contrary to popular opinion I am actually quite clever.” Professor Longbottom sighs happily, kicks his feet leisurely onto his desk, then knocks a pile of books to the floor and swears loudly. “Ummm, well. Most of the time. Anyway, enough of this, let’s get back to your lessons, shall we? I’m sure you can’t wait to properly extract a pod from one of those Snargaluffs.”

“I can’t, Professor,” Laurent says sombrely, but they share a friendly, understanding smile as they leave, and he thinks that yeah, maybe it’ll be okay. If he can just master this talking it over business he’ll be fine.

*

The thing is, Laurent  _ hates  _ talking things over.

With his tail between his legs he walks the long way back to the Head Boy/Girl tower that night, catching an early dinner to avoid speaking to people and then hurrying back. He kind of wants to get there before Damen does, and anyway, he doesn’t want to linger alone in the Great Hall after this morning. He finds himself dragging his feet and also styling and restyling his hair in the reflection of every suit of armour he walks past, and by the time he’s at the portrait hole his hair is ruined and his feet hurt. Sighing, he mumbles the password – “Grindylow” – and trudges up the stairs, his bag dragging along the floor behind him.

When he gets to Damen’s room, he’s surprised to actually see him in there, sleeping. Then he remembers that Damen is excused from lessons all week and curses his own stupid memory. But he dumps his bag, kicks off his shoes, and clambers onto the bed, then curls up around the contours of Damen’s body. Damen’s on his left side, turned towards where Laurent would be lying if they’d fallen asleep together. As Laurent leans closer and lets out a shaky exhale, Damen grunts and blinks awake, then blinks several more times as his face breaks out into a dopey grin, like he wasn’t expecting Laurent to be there.

“Sorry to wake you,” Laurent whispers. He isn’t sure why he’s whispering but it feels like the right thing to do.

“That’s okay,” Damen mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. “I’m glad you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Laurent murmurs, nuzzling his nose into Damen’s shoulder. He wraps an arm around Damen’s neck and pulls himself closer, lets himself be held. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Damen whispers back, kissing his cheek sloppily. He draws back and kisses Laurent on the mouth, once, twice, three times. “It was shitty, what happened this morning. You’re allowed to be mad and upset.”

“Not at you,” Laurent says, then sighs. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Hush, baby, hush,” Damen soothes, and then, “nap with me?”

“If you nap any longer you won’t sleep the night,” Laurent tells him sternly, teasing a finger against his sternum.

“I will,” Damen assures, grinning. “And if not, I’m sure we can work out a way to burn off some of my energy.”

“Dirty boy,” Laurent says, but he doesn’t argue. Things almost feel normal between them as he straightens out his legs and rolls over, snuggling back into the familiar warmth of Damen’s body, where he naps until Damen shakes him awake and the pair sneak down to the kitchens to steal big slices of Victoria sponge for their dinners.

*

Once Damen seems to understand that Laurent doesn’t like him looming over him all the time and that while Laurent is happy enough with people knowing, he doesn’t want their relationship to be his defining feature, the pair seem to go from strength to strength. It’s coming up to December now, so the castle is bloody cold all the time and for once Laurent is happy to sleep completely bundled up in Damen’s arms, warm and safe. He’s also started wearing Damen’s Quidditch jumper a little more outside their rooms, and it’s nice. Laurent likes people knowing that Damen is his, because as loathed as he is to admit it, he can get jealous sometimes.

Damen has, under Laurent’s strict instructions, also started revising for his N.E.W.T.S already, and that means long hours spent together in the library while Damen tries to get his head around Potions and Charms he’s never really bothered with before. He wants to join a Quidditch team when he leaves Hogwarts, but Laurent, ever the forward planner, insists that he needs to study in case he needs a back-up plan.

“Not that I don’t think you’re good enough,” he tells him, tangling their legs. “When you’re not getting knocked off your broom and almost plummeting to your death you’re quite a nifty Quidditch player.”

Damen snorts. “I’m glad you have that much faith in me,” he grins. “Okay, fine. Can we do a really sappy thing where you test me and then promise me a sex act of my choice for every five right answers?”

Now it’s Laurent’s turn to snort. “Not likely, darling,” he sing-songs. “I have my own studying to do.”

In a bid to get ahead of his classmates, Laurent has also started studying for his N.E.W.T.S. He already knows he wants to go into something Herbology-based once he finishes, so that becomes his main focus. He reads books on plants from all across the world in his spare time, and he’s even started volunteering with Professor – “call me Neville if we’re going to be spending this much time together, please” – Longbottom. So far Laurent is absolutely loving it, and he feels like he’s bounced back wonderfully since his little blip with the Snargaluffs a couple of weeks ago.

In fact, it’s been going well, almost too well, and that’s why he feels he shouldn’t be too surprised when he has another nightmare.

This one is dark, darker than any he can remember having in recent months. He wakes up sitting bolt upright, trembling and crying, and he has to shake Damen awake to hold him because the brute slept through it.

“Darling,” Damen coos into his hair, “hey, love, it’s me, I’m here, you’re safe.”

“He was there,” Laurent spits, simultaneously curling himself as close to Damen and as far under the covers as he can at once. “He was there and you were…”

“Who?” Damen asks gently. “Who was there?”

“ _ He  _ was,” Laurent sobs, because he needs Damen to know but he doesn’t want to be the one to tell him. “I can’t, I just can’t…  _ Damen.” _

_ “ _ What can I do?” pleads Damen. His grip loosens for a second, making Laurent yelp, and he nuzzles him back in. “Okay, okay. I was going to get you some water.”

“If you leave, he might come back,” Laurent babbles, only half-aware of what he’s saying. It had been so  _ real,  _ and he can’t have Damen leave, not now. He needs to know where he is so he can keep him safe. “Stay. Stay.”

“I’m staying,” Damen promises, and Laurent thinks he feels a kiss pressed into his hair but he’s not too sure. “Can you sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Laurent flaps, on the verge of tears. He can’t stop picturing his face, looming over him, taunting. “I don’t know, Damen.”

“It’s okay, hey,” Damen soothes, again and again. He holds Laurent until it starts to get light outside, and once he’s finally drifted off Laurent scrabbles out of his arms, has the hottest shower the bathroom allows, then scuttles off and avoids him for as long as he can.

It’s a mixed few days for both of them afterwards. Damen is clearly dying to know who  _ he  _ is, and Laurent feels sick with fear every time he imagines telling him and watching him walk away. It’ll be too much for him to handle, he’s certain, and he can’t do it. He can’t watch Damen walk away, he just can’t.

He wants to talk to Auguste about it, but he also doesn’t want to tell Auguste that he’s still having these horrible nightmares, because it’ll only serve to make him feel guiltier. There’s a permanent dent in their mother’s bureau back at their house in Hogsmeade because Auguste lost his temper big time when he found out about the nightmares in the first place, and he’d cried, only the second time Laurent had seen him do so since their father’s funeral. Laurent cares too much about his brother to let him go through that again.

The instinct to push Damen away constantly rears its ugly head, and he has to actively quash it with more and more force every day, stamp on it hard and try not to scream. Damen will curl up next to him in bed the same as he always has, but there will be a look in his eyes that Laurent can’t fucking stand; lost, sad, pitiful. Laurent doesn’t want his pity. The last thing he’s ever wanted is pity, and now what he wants is for that look to stop.

The rumour mill seems to have slowed down at least, which is a small silver lining in this whole thing. That may be because Laurent has accidentally-on-purpose started making more trips around the castle, to class and to meals, without Damen (or Auguste for that matter) because at least when he’s on his own he can ignore the stares and the chatter. Damen can’t seem to do that; only the other day he had asked a couple of blushing Third Years what they were staring at, and once back in their rooms Laurent had scolded him no end for it. He still wants to avoid the attention, and he wishes Damen would just leave it be.

He misses Damen, though, and loathed as he is to admit it he has because quite used to and fond of his constant company. But sometimes it’s just another reminded of how much of a fuck-up he feels at times, because he has a boyfriend that he loves whole-heartedly, who he loves being around and holding and being held by, but he lets his head override his heart and other people’s opinions seem to matter, even though he pretends they don’t. It’s confusing, especially to himself.

This limbo lasts about a week, and comes to a head in a way that Laurent was not expecting. For the first time since his nightmare he and Damen have a good morning together - a slow lazy fuck coupled with a long, bone-soothing shower sets Laurent up in a good mood. He kisses Damen goodbye at the breakfast table, makes a crude gesture at Auguste and Nikandros as they coo, and he skips off to History of Magic, unhurried and unworried.

History of Magic is famously one of the most boring lessons at Hogwarts, but Laurent quite enjoys it. As a big reader, often he’s already read about the topics they cover already, so he’s got a lot more knowledge than a lot of his fellow students, but today they’re covering something he hasn’t read about yet. As such, once Professor Binns has set their homework (a laborious foot of parchment of Ethelred the Ever-Ready) he dismisses them and Laurent starts packing his bags, ready to head off to Transfiguration.

And then he feels a touch on his arm.

“Hi,” says Torveld, Ravenclaw Beater and absolutely the last person Laurent wants to talk to in the whole of Hogwarts, with the possible exception of Govart. Laurent takes a step back so Torveld is no longer touching him, and he smooths down his sleeves.

“Hi.”

“You’re very good at History of Magic,” Torveld says, apropos of nothing. Laurent frowns – he isn’t especially, and anyway, it isn’t like Torveld could possibly know whether he is or isn’t. “I was hoping you could tutor me.”

“What?” Laurent blurts, almost dropping his inkwell as he goes to put it in his bag. “Me, tutor you?” He laughs humourlessly. “I don’t think so, Torveld.”

“Look,” Torveld says slowly. His smile looks real enough, but his eyes look like blazing fire, and Laurent doesn’t like it. “I know you’re mad at me for what happened with Damen…”

“Mad is an understatement,” remarks Laurent. “It’s more of a fury, really, and as such I don’t want to talk to you.”

“What I did wasn’t against the laws of Quidditch,” Torveld tells him, like that makes it better. Laurent feels sick. “How is he, by the way?”

_ Scarred. _

“Damen is fine,” Laurent replies through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to tutor you.”

“You’re still upset, I understand,” Torveld says solemnly, then nods. “Alright then, no bother. I’ll give you some time to consider my offer.”

“What offer?” spits Laurent, but Torveld has already ducked back to his desk and starts packing up his own books, leaving Laurent confused, bothered and furious.

The exchange plays over and over in his mind for the rest of the day, and by dinnertime he’s just flat out perplexed. He eats dinner at the Gryffindor table with Auguste, Nikandros and Damen as has become their normal routine, but he spies Torveld across the hall and gets a wink from him. He drops his eyes back to his pasta and ignores it.

(And if he presses a little closer to Damen, grinning and smacking a cheese and tomato kiss onto his cheek when Damen wraps an arm around his shoulders… well. That’s just a coincidence.)

He decides he’s going to tell Damen about it that night, mainly to gauge his reaction. Damen and him are very different people, and while Laurent tends to be more sceptical and judgmental towards other people, Damen is very happy-go-lucky and tries to see the best in people. Laurent worries about him sometimes – he can be almost too trusting and forgiving, and while Laurent thinks it would be great to be that way, he just hopes he doesn’t get himself into trouble with it one day.

The thing is, neither of them have ever had much to do with Torveld, so it’s a little perplexing why he did what he did in the first place. But when Laurent mentions it to Damen when they’re lying in bed that night, Damen… laughs.

“I’m serious,” Laurent whines, poking at Damen’s ribs. But Damen is cackling too loud to hear. He whines again, trying to rival his boyfriend in volume, and he tries to move away but Damen snags his wrist and pulls him back into him, still chuckling.

“I know you’re serious, baby, I know,” he giggles. “You’ve gone all frowny. That’s how I can tell you’re being  _ very  _ serious.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to tell you something that might be significant but you’re being a twat.”

“It’s not that significant, or I doubt it is anyway,” Damen protests. “I mean come on, the bloke’s an arse. Always has been. Confident and cocky and, like, the strangest mix of super camp and super manly that I’ve ever known.”

Laurent’s bottom lip pokes out in thought. “I never noticed that, actually,” he hums. “Alright, fair enough, we both know the guy is a prick. But seriously, why does he want me to tutor him in a subject I’m very average at?”

“Aw, babe, you’re not average at it, you’re brilliant,” Damen coos, smacking a kiss to Laurent’s cheek. Laurent smacks him in the chest and he sighs. “Okay, babe, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” He taps his chin. “Maybe he wants to make amends and you’re in Ravenclaw with him so it’s natural for him to come to you first? Maybe he really knows what he did was wrong?”

“No,” Laurent says flatly. “That isn’t it. He’s moved on, he would have done it sooner if that was the case. This has a hidden motive.”

“Are you sure you’re not just looking into this too deeply?” Damen asks, then starts to nose and kiss at Laurent’s neck. “Come on, baby, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Another few kisses. “Focus on me instead.”

Laurent, who is pretty sure he’s been focusing on Damen for far too much of his life already, relents and lets Damen focus on him for a good hour, but the feeling doesn’t fade. He doesn’t have a lesson with him the next day but he does the day after – Herbology of all things. It also happens to be the first snow of the year, settling across the castle grounds in thick, white sheets. As such, the whole castle, but especially the greenhouses, are absolutely fucking freezing.

Being the forward planner that he is, Laurent is already wearing a set of Damen’s Quidditch thermals under his robes, but because they’re so long on him the gold and red trim around the sleeve cuffs has been poking out all morning. Nobody has made a comment, thankfully, but he’s looking forward to getting given today’s assignment so he can roll up his sleeves. It’s a lesson that Laurent has been looking forward to for months – they’re covering the Venomous Tentacula, which is highly dangerous and highly interesting, and something that Laurent has been reading about in awe since his second year.

Once again he’s partnered with Kyrina, who he’s actually decided he quite likes. She’s a good partner because she too loves the subject and doesn’t try and make inane conversation, which he likes. She’s also got lightning-quick reflexes, and stops the plant from attempting to strangle them more than once. The objective of the day is simply to feed the Venomous Tentacula, and over the coming weeks they’ll learn move of what to do with it. It’s one of the best lessons Laurent has had in a while, and after their double period is over he makes the move to leave the greenhouses and walk back up to the castle with Kyrina, but a hand on his shoulder stops him.

It’s Torveld, and Laurent takes an automatic step back, his default reaction around the guy.

“Hi,” he says, a big smile pasted on his lips. “That was a great lesson, wasn’t it?”

“The answer is still no,” Laurent says flatly. “And I don’t want to speak to you, ever, so kindly move along.”

“Laurent, be reasonable,” Torveld tries, but Laurent turns to move away and is about to leave when he’s tapped on the shoulder again. He grips his wand and turns, not quite holding it outstretched but making it clear the threat is there. Torveld whistles and steps back, hands up. “Wow, boy, you’re really mad at me, aren’t you?”

“Is there a problem here?” Professor Longbottom asks, stepping over to the workstation. Laurent takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“No, Professor,” he says through gritted teeth. “Torveld was just leaving, and so was I. Separately. Not together. He can go first.”

Torveld’s smile is still wide, but now there’s definitely an edge to it. He leaves anyway, sweeping out of there and heading out into the snow, and Laurent watches him go for ten seconds or so before he turns to Professor Longbottom.

“Thanks, Professor,” he says. “See you Thursday?”

Professor Longbottom’s eyes narrow. “Yes, see you Thursday,” he echoes, but his tone suggests that there’s really a lot more he wants to say. Laurent makes the move to scamper off before he can ask any more questions, but before he leaves he hears his teacher call, “nice shirt cuffs, by the way. If you want to deter any unwanted advances from creepy boys in your year that’s definitely one way to do it.”

Laughing, Laurent waves over his shoulder and trudges through the snow and back up to the castle.

Torveld doesn’t stop trying it though, and at least once a day for the next week he’s cornered by him, either in lessons, on the way to lessons, in the library, or any time he catches him alone. Laurent hadn’t actually realised how many lessons and free periods they share, and he finds himself avoiding the library and seeking out his brother, Damen, or even Nikandros so he doesn’t see him. It doesn’t really work though, because they all have such different schedules, and now Quidditch practice has started again Laurent sees less of them in the mornings and evenings.

But Torveld is relentless with his advances, and Laurent doesn’t understand what he wants until the night that everything changes.

Common room parties are thrown once or twice a term at Hogwarts, and normally it’s not something that Laurent would ever dream of attending. Back when he lived in the Ravenclaw dormitory he would always just shut himself up there with a book, casting a silencing spell to drown out the loud music and shrieking chatter. But Damen is Head Boy, and also a massive social butterfly, and even though Laurent insists that Damen would have more fun without him and he’ll be  _ fine  _ on his own, the big brute is having none of it.

“But I want you there,” he maintains, then rolls over in bed and boxes Laurent in so he has nowhere to go. Laurent scowls.

“But I don’t want me there.”

“But I won’t have as much fun without you,” Damen cries dramatically, pressing a hand to his bare chest. “Come on, baby, it’s just one night. And we can leave early if you hate it, I promise.”

“You won’t want to leave early,” Laurent says, eyeing him sternly. “You love parties and you want to get drunk and have a dance and not be held back by your boring bookworm boyfriend.”

Damen sighs and pouts. “That’s not true,” he insists. “I want you there, Laurent. Please.” He draws out the word for as long as possible, inching his face closer and closer to Laurent with every second it goes on. Laurent puts his hand on his face and tries to push him back.

“Get  _ off,  _ you giant slobbery _ animal, _ ” he shrills, kicking his legs out weakly under the covers. Damen laughs and moves his head back, then pouts again.

“Please?”

Laurent rolls his eyes. “What will I get out of this if I say yes, Damianos?”

“I’ll do the tongue thing every night for a week.”

Laurent pretends to think about it. He doesn’t know why he bothers; they both know he’s going, he was always going to go, and Damen is mean. “Alright, fine,” he relents. “But I want  _ two  _ weeks of that, and also you’re not allowed to beg me to leave the library so we can fuck.”

“But you like it when I do that,” Damen says, voice laced with fake diplomacy, then ducks down to kiss Laurent breathless.

And that’s why Laurent finds himself in skinny jeans and an old sweater of Auguste’s on a Friday night when he’d much rather be curled up in bed with his brute of a boyfriend, stood outside the Gryffindor portrait hole. The Fat Lady looks really rather put out by all the noise that’s coming from upstairs, but Damen, who does have permission to use the Gryffindor common room but rarely chooses to, reels off the password – “Amortentia” – and pretends to bow as it swings open for the pair of them.

“You’re so weird,” Laurent grumbles, but he obediently takes Damen’s hand and lets himself be let up the short staircase and into the common room. Music is blaring and it seems that the party is already in full swing. He spots lots of people from his classes, but the first person who comes over to greet them is Nikandros, who pulls them both into clumsy hugs – he’s definitely already taken advantage of the punch that smells like it’s been spiked with a sizeable amount of Firewhiskey.

“You’re here,” he shouts, then turns his head to the side and lets out a loud belch. He pounds his fist to his chest and Damen laughs, slapping him on the shoulder merrily.

“And you’re disgusting,” Laurent notes dryly, but there’s no malice behind it. Everyone seems like they’re having a great time, and Laurent thinks he may as well make the most of his evening. If he wasn’t here he’d probably be alone in Damen’s room, and loathed as he is to admit it that doesn’t sound as much fun as it used to. “What’s in the punch?”

Nikandros shrugs. “Dunno, but it’s fucking great,” he hiccups. “Come get a cup?”

Damen rests his hand on Laurent’s shoulder as the pair move over to the drinks table. It’s already a mess – it’s sticky and there’s crumbs all over it, but Nikandros sets out three shot glasses and pours an unidentified clear liquid into each one. He hands one to Laurent, and then to Damen, and then raises his own and throws them a wink.

“That was disgusting,” Laurent spits after he's knocked it back, the taste of the harsh liquid still burning at his throat. He's not a big drinker at all, but that was particularly vile. “What was it?”

“I dunno, some Muggle drink that Makedon brought along,” Nikandros shrugs again. “Another?”

Laurent coughs, and then glances over at Damen. “Sure.”

He watches Damen’s eyes go wide. “Babe, you don't have to.”

“Did I ask your opinion?” Laurent drawls, then hip checks him as he necks another shot. It burns as it goes down again, though not as harsh this time. “Fuck, that's a taste, ain't it?”

Damen watches him, clearly amused. “Maybe slow it down on the vodka shots, love,” he grins, slinging an arm back around his shoulders. “Have some punch and then let's go find your brother.”

Laurent rolls his eyes but obediently pours out two cups of punch, then lets Damen pull him over to wear Auguste is sat on one of the big red overstuffed sofas, his arm around a very beautiful girl.

“Hey, little bro,” he calls up, throwing him a clumsy hand, which Laurent high fives dutifully. “You look good. Thanks for coming!”

“He does look good, doesn't he?” Damen agrees, nosing at Laurent's ear. Laurent bats him away and he laughs. “What? You do.”

“Who is this?” he asks as he points to the girl instead, keen to have the focus of the attention moved to somebody else.

“Ah,” Auguste grunts, then turns to the smiling beauty in his arms. “This is Lisbeth.”

“Ah,” Laurent echoes in his brother’s thick, drunk tone. “Nice to meet you, Lisbeth.”

“Likewise,” she grins, then before Laurent really knows what's going on the pair are kissing messily in front of them, a loud groan coming from Auguste as they press each other into a corner. The kiss grows heated quickly and Damen's eyes are wide and Laurent is laughing as they move away, back towards where they left Nikandros.

“More drinks?”

“ _ Definitely  _ more drinks if I've got to watch my brother do that all night,” Laurent shouts over the music, then clinks his shot glass with Nikandros and a lad on his other side – Laurent thinks his name is Pallas. The burning shot goes down a little easier again, and with a quick swig of punch to follow it fades into nothing more than aftertaste quickly.

By ten o'clock the party is in full swing. Sofas and tables have been pushed to the side to make room for a makeshift dance floor, which is already sticky with spilt punch. The music is loud and Laurent is drunker than he's been since the summer, swaying gently to the beat of the music with an arm around Damen's neck, keeping him upright. Every now and again people will come over and make brief conversation with them (mainly Damen to be honest) but it doesn't last long as it's clear that Damen only has eyes for Laurent at this party.

“You look beautiful in this light,” Laurent hears him say, and he's had enough alcohol that the comment makes him feel light and fluffy. He doesn't even pretend to push Damen away, he kisses him instead, and that's how Torveld finds them fifteen minutes later when he taps Laurent on the shoulder.

“Hey, nice to see you,” he says brightly, too bright and too loud for someone you don't know to be up in your space like this. With his arms still wound around Damen's neck, Laurent takes a step to the side and peers at him over a pretend pair of glasses.

“No,” is all he says, though it comes out more of a slur. He's drunker than he thought. “No.”

“No?” Torveld echoes, feigning confusion. And then he turns to Damen. “Nice to finally meet you, Damen.”

Damen, to Laurent’s great pleasure, is looking at Torveld like he's a bad smell. “Is it?” he asks lowly, snaking his hand around Laurent’s waist so he can take his weight more easily. “Because you didn't seem fazed before you started chatting up my boyfriend on the regular.”

“Your boyfriend is a very intelligent and handsome guy,” Torveld shrugs. His voice makes Laurent’s skin crawl. “But I did want to introduce myself to you and, well, I wanted to apologise.”

“He's good without one,” Laurent tells him, then goes back to holding Damen like he was before, back to Torveld and the rest of the room. Damen darts forward to kiss Laurent softly, reassuring, but he keeps his mouth pressed to Laurent's skin until he's sure Torveld has gone, which Laurent appreciates.

“What the fuck was all that about?” he mumbles into Laurent’s ear. “And are you okay?”

“I'm good,” Laurent nods, because he is, really. He'd rather he wasn't there, but he's got Damen and he's got the vodka and he's in a very good mood. Not the kind of mood he wants to let some freak from his year group spoil. “Kiss me again?”

Damen snorts and shoots him a coy grin. “Oh, you want to kiss me in public, is that what I just heard?”

Laurent gives him a  _ look,  _ but he's drunk and happy so it may just be a grin. “Well, what have we been doing for the last… however long then, if we weren't kissing?”

Damen shuts him up with his mouth again, and soon that's all Laurent can think about.

After about fifteen minutes of more snogging and a little grinding to the beat of the music, Damen is summoned away by a slap on the shoulder.

“Oi!”

It's Nikandros, and he looks mighty pleased with himself.

“What?” Damen asks, pulling away. He readjusts his hold on Laurent so they're a little closer, and Laurent realises that Damen is sporting a semi, which he finds hilarious and delightful in equal measure.

“Auguste and what's her face are fucking in the cupboard,” Nikandros howls. Laurent gapes at him and Damen cackles, then breaks away from Laurent for a second to see where Nikandros is pointing. Then he laughs even louder, slapping Nikandros back on the shoulder in a very manly gesture, and before Laurent knows what's going on the music is turned down enough for the whole party to hear his brother’s grunts and groans from inside the closet.

“For fuck’s sake,” he whines to nobody in particular, then wanders back over to the drinks table. He's going to need at least seven more of these vodka shots if he's going to listen to his brother moan… like that.

Another shot goes down, and then he pours another cup of punch, then another for Damen on an afterthought. As he puts the ladle back in the punch bowl he's aware of a taller body coming up behind him, and then there are arms around his middle, someone nuzzling into the back of his neck.

He's drunk and a little out of sorts, so he doesn't even flinch for once, just sinks into the embrace. But as he relaxes he realises that this is all very wrong, because Damen doesn't smell like that and this person is the wrong height, and when he looks down at the hands that are trying to link with his he realises that they're far, far too pale to be Damen's.

With a yelp he tries to fling the arms off him, but they're strong and stay put, which only serves to make him panic more. And then there's a voice in his ear, and it's not  _ his  _ voice but it may as well be, the way it tickles the hairs on the back of his neck in a horrible way, the way the hands that are curled around his hips hold him firm, knowing there's no way he can escape from a hold like this.

“Come, come, Laurent,” Torveld’s syrupy voice whispers in his ear, and Laurent hates the way he whimpers. “We’re finally alone, and I knew you wanted it too.”

“No,” Laurent tries to yell, but it's too much, too much is happening too fast and he's gone into panic mode. “No, don't…”

“He's left the room,” Torveld says almost gleefully. He’s drunk too; Laurent can smell the alcohol on his breath, and it’s almost enough to make him gag. “He's not coming back, so why don't you come back to Ravenclaw and I'll show you a good time.”

“I said no,” Laurent yells, and he kicks out behind him, trying and failing to get his shoe to connect with a solid part of Torveld, any part that will hurt. “No, no, get off, get off…”

“Damen doesn’t have to know, you know. Let me kiss you, come on,” the voice continues, and Laurent can't stop himself, he screams an almighty scream that has the whole party rushing back from the other corridor. He hears Damen before he sees him, shouting something indistinguishable as he hurries over, and he feels faint as he’s moved from one set of arms to another. Even if one set belongs to Damen it still feels like too much, but his legs near enough give way when he realises he’s safe. Damen keeps one arm around his waist and the other flies to his pocket.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” he snarls, wand suddenly outstretched and at Torveld’s throat. Torveld clearly hadn’t been anticipating that kind of a reaction from either of them, and he looks a little green. “I said, what the  _ fuck  _ do you think you’re playing at?”

“I…” Torveld flounders, hands out to try and shove the wand away, not that that will do much. Laurent can feel Damen shaking against him, and he sounds thunderous. “He…”

“He did nothing,” Damen spits, and Laurent whimpers as he realises the whole common room is staring at the scene in awe. By anyone normal person’s standards, Laurent’s scream was a plain and simple overreaction, but Damen knows better. He might not know exactly why, but he knows it was genuine and necessary, so he’s rolling with it, justifying it. Laurent has to love him for that. “What did you expect to happen, huh? That he would turn around and be happy to see you?”

“What’s happening?” Auguste’s voice says from the doorway. He stumbles in doing up his trousers, and he glares at Torveld before he’s even at Damen and Laurent’s sides. “What the fuck do you want, Torveld?”

“Oh, stop flapping like you’re the one who’s been let down here,” Damen snarls when Torveld doesn’t answer.

“I…” Torveld can’t get his words out for a second, and then he blurts, “I fucking fancy your boyfriend, alright?”

Laurent goes rigid in Damen’s arms at the fucking thought, but thankfully Damen maintains himself. If he’s as shocked as Laurent is he doesn’t show it. “I couldn’t give a shit if you think you want to run away with him and have ten children. He’s not yours to fucking touch, or manhandle, or anything.”

“He’s not yours either,” Torveld cries, and Auguste scoffs and Damen growls again, but all Laurent can think of, all he can focus on, is how those hands felt on his hips. He’s not really listening as Damen and Torveld continue to battle it out, but thankfully his brother is there and his brother knows him than anyone, so he twigs when Laurent is about to crumble and yanks him from Damen’s arms without a word and leads him away.

He hadn’t realised how hard he was shaking until Auguste stands in front of him and folds his hands on top of his quivering ones. Auguste trains his eyes on Laurent’s face and doesn’t let Laurent look anywhere else. “What do you need?” he asks, the edge of desperation thick in his voice. “Tell me what you need and I’ll sort you.”

“I… away,” Laurent gulps, nodding rather frantically. He doesn’t want to be here, or near people, or near Torveld. At all. “Away.”

“My dormitory?” Auguste offers, but Laurent shakes his head. Anyone could walk in, and if Auguste’s earlier actions are anything to go by then they could be doing a lot more than walking. “Okay, no. Damen’s?”

Laurent nods and follows Auguste out of there, stumbling over the hardwood floors, unsteady on his own two feet. The walk back feels like miles even though it’s only a couple of flights of stairs, but Auguste never leaves his side. When they arrive to the portrait hole that will lead them to grateful seclusion Laurent grunts the password then dashes up the stairs and barges through the common room into the bathroom, where he hunches over the sink and throws up all the alcohol in his stomach. It feels and smells rotten, like a fire coursing up his throat and out through his mouth, and it’s stale and rank but he doesn’t want to keep a single drop of it inside. Auguste, thankfully, dashes in behind him, and pulls his hair back from where it’s hanging limply over his shoulders. He ties it back in a loose ponytail, then crouches down and strokes at Laurent’s back.

He rubs and rubs until all Laurent is bringing up is bile, then he helps him to his feet. He closes the toilet seat and sits Laurent down, then fetches him a cup of water.

Laurent sips slowly, still trembling. It’s a while before either of them say anything.

“I thought it was him,” he says eventually, not meeting Auguste’s eyes. “The way he… gripped me. It was the same.”

Auguste swears loudly and thumps his fist against the bathroom wall, eyes blazing. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he snarls.

Laurent shakes his head. “No,” he croaks. “No, it’s okay. He didn’t know, and I… I didn’t know I would be like that.” He laughs, hollow. “Bet the entire party thinks I’m a fucking nutjob.”

“Who cares?” Auguste says fiercely. “God, Laurent, I could kill him.  _ Shit. _ ”

Laurent shrugs. “He didn’t know. Damen doesn’t even know. Damen probably thinks I’m a fucking nutjob.”

“If he says anything…” Auguste growls lowly, but Laurent cuts him off with a scoff.

“Don’t be thick. Damen would never…”

As if on cue, Laurent is cut off by the sound of the common room being slammed open. Familiar footsteps thunder up the stairs, then suddenly Damen appears in the doorway, wide-eyed and a little frantic.

“Shit, there you are,” he says dumbly, then moves forward and tentatively touches Laurent’s shoulder, like he isn’t sure he’s allowed. It’s enough to make Laurent’s heart sink, so he puts his cup of water on the floor and he stands, then wraps his arms around Damen’s middle desperately. Damen throws his arms around Laurent’s shoulders and buries his face into his neck, and the pair stand there for a good few minutes, no words, just two bodies pressed together with urgency, like they’re scared they’ll be pulled apart.

“I’m sorry,” Laurent says, muffled by Damen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m…”

“No, I’m sorry,” Damen replies, pulling back and staring earnestly into Laurent’s damp eyes. His previously styled hair is ruined, his face sweaty and his expression tight. “I know you hate it when I shout.”

“It wasn’t the shouting,” Laurent says. “It was…”

“Shall I go?” Auguste interrupts, and Laurent turns in Damen’s arms to see his brother awkwardly toying with his necklace over by the sink. “I feel like you two need your moments.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Laurent blurts with a shake of his head, then he turns back to Damen. “Can we go sit in the common room or somewhere?”

Damen nods. “Sure. The party was shite anyway.” Then he snorts. “Actually, I think your brother here may disagree with that one.”

Auguste flushes pink and sticks out his tongue. “Look, she’s very pretty,” he whines, but it’s weak and it’s enough to make all three of them laugh, which breaks away some of the residual tension. “Alright, fine, I was a bit of an idiot, wasn’t I?”

“To be fair, she was very pretty,” Damen says, then winces when Laurent hits him on the forearm. He does have the decency to look a  _ little  _ sheepish, at least. “But not as pretty as you, my angel.”

“Gross,” sniffs Auguste, nudging past them and shouldering Damen intentionally as he goes. “Right, let’s get out of this bathroom. It smells like sick.”

Immediately concerned, Damen gasps and turns his attention back to Laurent, who drops his gaze to the floor. “Were you sick?”

“A little,” Laurent admits. “I think I had too much to drink, that’s all.”

“That… is not all,” Damen replies quietly, but in a voice that makes it clear he’s not in the mood for an argument. Laurent isn’t either, so he bites his tongue. “I… yeah, let’s go downstairs.”

For the rest of the night they don’t talk about it – they play cards in front of the fire and laugh and drink hot tea. Auguste decides he’s too tired to walk back to Gryffindor Tower so he settles on the sofa under one of Damen’s spare blankets – “but if you two go upstairs and fuck loudly then I’m leaving” – and he’s out like a light in no time.

Bone-tired and still not feeling well, Laurent leads Damen upstairs to their room and topples into their bed still fully dressed. “You better be in the mood to cuddle,” he tells Damen, going for teasing but they both know he really means it.

“Always,” Damen says back, and he yanks off his shirt and then unbuttons his jeans. “Hey, take off your clothes, you’ll roast in those.”

“I am not that easy, Damianos,” Laurent mumbles, but he does as he’s told. Once he’s just down to boxers he slides under the covers and makes grabby hands until Damen joins him, and once the lights are off and they’re both settled does Damen kiss the back of his neck, once, twice, three times, and then sighs.

“You know I love you, right?” he asks. Laurent nods. “And you know I don’t care about anything other than you being happy right now, right?”

“I know,” Laurent replies, forcing himself to stifle a yawn. “I know that. And I love you too.”

He hears Damen open his mouth, take a sharp intake of breath as if to carry this on, but then he stops, tangles a hand in Laurent’s hair, and starts to stroke. It’s one of Laurent’s favourite things, having his hair played with before bed, and like a purring cat Laurent is just about asleep in mere minutes.

But just before he falls, he hears Damen murmur something else.

“I wish you’d let me know who hurt you,” Damen whispers into the darkness between them. His fingers itch to reach for him but he knows now isn’t the time. He wasn’t meant to hear that, and the way his voice cracked almost makes Laurent wish he was ready to tell him.

_ Almost. _

*

Torveld doesn’t even look at Laurent when he walks into Charms on Monday morning, and Laurent is more than a bit pleased. He’s already sick of people looking at him, but he knows it’s his own fault. The panic attack he had on Saturday night was probably the most embarrassing thing he’s done in a long time, and it’s clear that once again he’s become the talking point of the Hogwarts gossip sphere. He keeps his head low in his books and pretends he doesn’t hear the sniggers or see the stares and confused glances, but he does. He always does.

He takes himself off to the library, his happy place when he’s not with Damen or his brother, and decides to settle there for the rest of the day. He only has Charms on a Monday, so he's able to settle into an easy routine of study. Facitedious as ever, he's already starting colour co-ordinating his notes and homing in on the topics he wants to focus on, and because he's feeling so shitty he decides to focus on Herbology, because it's a surefire way to keep himself busy and distracted.

That is, of course, until someone sits opposite him at his desk, and it isn't someone he wants to see at  _ all. _

“Haven't you done enough?” he asks tiredly. “What do you want now?”

“An explanation,” Torveld says, crossing his hands on the desk. He doesn't look at Laurent at all. “I… and I do actually want to apologise. Clearly I went too far.”

“Too far,” Laurent echoes weakly, because it feels like he went further than too far. He went into unchartered territory and took Laurent to a place he'd never been before, in the worst possible way. “I… I don't think I owe you an explanation.”

“Probably not,” Torveld agrees sheepishly. “I just felt awful because you just… you were scared, weren't you? I did something to scare you, and the worst I had expected was a kick back.”

“Did you really expect me to turn around and kiss you?” Laurent has to ask, disgusted. “Did you really think that approaching someone who has a boyfriend, who, by the way, is literally feet away, and doing what you did was conducive to a successful outcome?”

“I’m not sure what I thought was going to happen,” admits Torveld awkwardly. “I’d definitely had too much to drink, and I… I have always fancied you, you know, Laurent. You’re… well, you're gorgeous and clever and interesting and…”

“Shut  _ up. _ ” Laurent cuts him off with a growl and glares. “I’m not interested in any of that. I’m not… it's never going to happen and you need to get over it.”

“Damen is leaving, you know,” Torveld mumbles, and he still doesn't move his head so he's looking at Laurent. “You'll be apart for a whole year and it's not going to be easy to keep it going.”

“Ah yes, but that's the difference between Damen and yourself,” Laurent says hotly. “Damen loves me, and you know nothing about me. You having a crush on me has no bearing to my relationship, even if we’re doing a year apart.”

Torveld shrugs. “I’m just saying, Hogwarts has a way of making you think everything is wonderful but once you step outside…”

“Believe me, Hogwarts has never made me feel like that,” Laurent replies. “I love it here, but Damen isn't the reason I love it here, not at all. But anyway, it's not really any of your business, so I’d like to terminate this conversation and get back to my studies now, if you'd be so kind.”

“When Damen leaves we’ll be sharing a dormitory,” Torveld says, apropos of nothing, and then, “okay, I’ll leave. But I do want to say I am sorry about what I did. It was a drunken mistake and I would never have done that sober. And if you're happy with Damen for now then I don't think it's my place to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, really?” Laurent says sarcastically. “What gave that away? Was it the fact that Damen had to point his wand at you to get you to back away? Or was it that you made me…” He cuts himself off and keeps his gaze hard, because with the way he's feeling at the moment he wouldn't be surprised if he blurted something he’ll regret. “Just leave me alone. Leave me alone and don't speak to me again.”

Torveld finally stands up, and he looks sad, defeated, frustrated. Laurent couldn't care less. “I am sorry,” is the last thing he offers before he spins on his heel and disappears behind the bookcases to their left. Laurent finds himself holding his breath until the clip clop of his shoes can't be heard anymore, then he lets out a long exhale.

He's angry, both at Torveld and at himself. While what Torveld did was stupid and ridiculous and he's still furious and upset, he also can't believe he hadn't twigged what to Torveld was so obvious – Damen is  _ leaving. _

Next year he won't have the luxury of the private bedroom and bathroom. Next year he won't have a warm body to sleep next to, someone to hold him through the bad nights and someone to kiss him awake slowly on the weekends. Next year he'll be back in a shared dormitory with Torveld of all people, and he'll not only be without Damen but also Auguste. His two best friends and his two greatest supports – gone.

And then what's going to happen? Damen will get a job and Laurent will be studying for his final exams, so they'll have no time together at all, except for the occasional Hogsmeade weekend. And even then it won't be much, because they'll have six or so hours to pour their days and weeks of being apart into. Damen could be working far away too - he's made no secret of the fact that he wants to join a Quidditch team, but he could go anywhere.

Anywhere, which is the exact opposite of where Laurent will have to be.

He’ll miss him terribly, and Damen will miss him right back, of course. But then he thinks  _ what if Damen meets someone better? Prettier? More available?  _ The thought makes him feel physically sick, but then the thought that's plagued him for weeks shoots back into his head, makes him feel even worse.

_ Maybe it's time you do both of you a kindness and just end it. _

He doesn't feel like he's strong enough to end it, not after Saturday. Yet the thought runs round and round his head all day like the worst kind of migraine, like a bug that has wormed its way into this thoughts and is eating away the good. Suddenly everything feels bleak, helpless, tiring.

_ You've never been able to love Damen enough. _

_ If you weren't so broken then maybe you'd be able to. _

_ But you can't. _

_ So you better leave him before he realises this and leaves himself. _

_ It'll hurt more that way. _

He’s deep in thought, deep enough to not hear footsteps approach him. He hates the way he flinches as arms wrap around his shoulders, but he settles soon enough once he realises who it is.

Damen doesn’t ask, but he does hold back enough until he knows Laurent’s okay with the touches. Laurent appreciates that more than he can say out loud.

_ I’m going to miss this. _

“Hello, you,” Damen greets, then kisses his ear, the first part he’s able to reach. Laurent smiles, eyes dropping closed, and he drops his quill and moves his hand up to squeeze one of Damen’s, grateful. Pleased, Damen makes a happy sound in the back of his throat, then says, “I missed you today.”

“I’ve been here all day,” Laurent replies, leaning his head back so it’s resting comfortably on the meat of Damen’s hard shoulder. “I wasn’t hard to find.”

“Ah, yes, but you are hard to pull away from your studies,” Damen chuckles, then presses three quick kisses to Laurent’s cheek before he pulls away and drops into the chair beside him. “What are you studying today, love?”

“Herbology, would you believe,” Laurent says, closing his book. “But I think I’m done for the day. I’ve been here since after Charms finished.”

Damen gapes at him. “I should say you have,” he sighs. “I don’t know how you do this, Laurent. But you’re going to take over the world one day, I know it. I’m in love with the future Minister of Magic.” There’s pride in his tone, and it’s a pride Laurent is used to hearing from anyone… well. Anyone outside of Auguste for sure, and his uncle was only proud when…

_ Enough. _

“Kiss me,” Laurent begs, then before the startled Damen can say anything he practically dives into his lap and awkwardly slams their mouths together, his hands fisting clumsily in the back of Damen’s sweat-matted hair. The squeak of surprise Damen lets out is instantly drowned by the clashing of teeth, and his arms move to circle Laurent and pull him closer. Laurent loses himself in Damen, in his scent and his hold and his taste and his body. He lets himself kiss and be kissed, forgetting they’re in a library until there’s a loud coughing behind them, enough to make Laurent jump a little and break away from Damen.

Madame Pince has her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised. “This is a  _ library,”  _ she hisses, leaving a dramatic pause between each word. “And you two would do well to remember that.” Laurent drops his hands from Damen’s shoulders, but Damen doesn’t let up his grip from Laurent’s hips. “I expected better from you both. Damianos – as Head Boy? And Laurent…” She tuts, and Laurent hates how his first instinct is to hang his head.

“Okay, we’re leaving,” Damen huffs, helping Laurent down from his lap. He stands up and grabs his satchel, and Laurent finds himself scrabbling to get his things together. Madame Pince stalks off and Laurent sighs, then sighs louder as Damen presses a hand to the small of his back and grins into his messy hair.

“Damen,” he grumbles, “I feel like an idiot.”

Damen kisses his hair where his mouth was resting, then pulls back, confused. “Why, darling?”

“I don’t… I don’t  _ do  _ things like that. I don’t really… I don’t know what came over me there, I…”

“Hey, woah,” Damen interrupts. He reaches for Laurent’s inkwell and screws the lid on one-handed. “It’s not a big deal, Laurent.” When Laurent doesn’t reply straight away, he thumbs over the back of his neck gently, then says, “Come on, let’s get out of here. Have you had dinner?”

Laurent shakes his head, then picks up his bag and slides it onto his shoulder. “I was waiting for you.”

“Then let’s go eat,” Damen says, as if everything is that simple. But it isn’t that simple, Laurent is constantly reminded, because this won’t happen forever and Damen is leaving soon. Pretty soon he’ll be alone again, and sometimes he isn’t sure if that’s something he’ll be able to do. It hurts, and Laurent hates that this is the immediate thought his mind flits to now when he’s with Damen. But Damen is smiling at him so brilliantly, as if Laurent agreeing to eat with him is the greatest compliment he could receive, so he swallows any doubt down and scolds himself for counting the months rather than relishing the time they have left.

“Sure,” Laurent nods, then snatches Damen’s hand before he can second guess himself. Damen is always so pleased when Laurent initiates the little things, however, and it can make him feel like a bit of an idiot. No matter how hard he tries, he’s always wondered if he’s able to love Damen enough. And that…

“Do you want to tell me what’s tying your face in knots?” Damen asks, voice soft but just loud enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the Hogwarts corridors. Dinner ends in twenty minutes and most people are moving back towards their dormitories or common rooms, but enough stop and greet Damen with a wave. Damen smiles back politely, but then he always turns his gaze back to Laurent.

“I’m…” Laurent starts, then cuts himself off as a particularly loud gaggle of girls push past, giggling. He can’t say for sure it was at him, but it’s enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, enough to make him grip at Damen’s hand that little bit tighter. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Is it something to do with what happened back there in the library?” Damen asks, careful. As they enter the Great Hall, Laurent spies the Gryffindor table on the far left is still pretty busy, and he’s grateful when Damen steers them towards the tail end of the Ravenclaw table, which is empty shy for a couple of first years. Laurent doesn’t speak as they settle into their seats, instead busying himself with pouring goblets full of pumpkin juice for them both. Damen slides a plate in front of them, already piled high with sausages and mashed potato. He takes an even larger portion for himself. “Is it something I’ve done?”

Laurent groans, mashing a soggy carrot into his potato. “No,” he mumbles, then shovels a mouthful in so he doesn’t have to speak for a second. “I’m just…” He groans again, swallowing his food. It lies heavy in his throat, like he’s actually swallowed a rock. “I really, really love you, okay? And I know I don’t say it much and I can be a shitty boyfriend at times, but I do. And sometimes I think too hard about it.”

This time, he practically shoves an entire sausage in his mouth, chewing aggressively so he doesn’t have to answer. He pointedly doesn’t look over at Damen, and after a few moments of him being hyper-aware of just how pink he must be flushing, a hand squeezes his knee. When he turns, he sees Damen staring at him with his mouth agape. There’s droplets of gravy on his chin and his eyes are wide, confused, confused enough to make Laurent wish he’d never opened his stupid fucking mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whines, and his bottom lip pokes out in a pout. “Damen. Stop that.”

“I… I mean, it’s just unexpected,” Damen stammers, but he shuffles closer to Laurent and wraps him up in a stupidly tight hug, too tight and definitely way too much for the centre of the Great Hall. “You’re not a shitty boyfriend, fuck. You’re the best boyfriend. The very bestest.”

“Shut  _ up, _ ” Laurent wails, muffled by Damen’s too-wide chest. “I’m not. I’m distant and clingy and annoying.”

“You’re wonderful,” Damen mumbles. “I know how much you care about me and I love that. Just because we have different ways of showing it doesn’t mean you’re distant. Fuck, you sat with me in the Hospital Wing after my accident and you doted on me all that week, which I loved, and even though you don’t like it you make it clear that we’re together and it’s not just a passing thing, and you…”

“So I am clingy and annoying then,” Laurent deadpans.

“Look,” Damen says, pulling back just enough so he can stare into Laurent’s eyes. He’s all earnestness and strength combined, and Laurent couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. “Baby, I…”

“I don’t want it to be a big thing,” Laurent cuts in. “I have all this fucking baggage, Damen, and recently it’s all I’m able to think about. I sometimes just want you to tell me I am annoying as all hell so you do leave.”

Damen splutters a high-pitched laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Laurent, fucking hell. I don’t want to leave you. I really, really love you too, in case you didn’t already know, and I have every intention of it staying that way. Regardless of this baggage you have.”

Laurent’s eyes narrow, his body going cold. “Did Auguste tell you anything?”

“Tell me what?” Damen asks. “What’s going on, Laurent? Something clearly isn’t right and I want to help, I really do…”

“Well, you can’t,” Laurent hisses, and he pulls back harshly and fumbles for his bag, nearly tripping over the bench in his hurry to get himself out of there. “You’re such a mindfuck, Damen, I…”

“I’m the mindfuck?” Damen shrills, throwing his hands in the air. He’s loud, louder than he realises sometimes, and with a heavy heart Laurent realises just how many people are watching. “You aren’t explaining anything, Laurent, you’re not making sense and then you’re acting like you want me to break things off with you…”

“Well, maybe you should,” Laurent spits, then stalks out of there hurriedly. He can hear Damen shouting something after him but he doesn’t listen, he just keeps moving, flicking his head forward so his long hair covers his inevitably-bright red face. Tears prick the backs of his eyes and his throat feels red raw, but he pushes through the groups of students littering the hallways and charges towards Ravenclaw Tower. Belatedly, he remembers he hasn’t actually been here in a while – pretty much since the term began he’s been living out of Damen’s rooms and as such he doesn’t have a toothbrush, a clean pair of pants, or half his books here.

“Fizzing Whizzbees,” he mumbles anyway as he approaches the entranceway, and the portrait swings open. As he ascends the stairs into the tower, he passes Jord, his dorm mate and someone he might even consider a friend. Jord’s always been a good guy, friendly and approachable even when Laurent was not, and when he spots Laurent, he beams.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, sidestepping so he can pat him on the shoulder. “Long time no see.”

“Hey,” Laurent replies, voice low. Jord frowns.

“What’s up? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine,” Laurent says, in a voice that makes it evident he is not, in fact, fine. “I’m grand, even. How are you?”

Jord’s eyes narrow. “I’m… cracking?”

“Good, me too.”

“I… am having a hard time believing that, but okay,” Jord says with a slow nod. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Oh my  _ Godric,”  _ Laurent explodes, “why does everyone  _ always  _ want me to talk about my  _ fucking  _ feelings? I’m  _ fine.” _

He’s panting as he slows down his speech, and Jord has taken a couple of steps down so he’s out the firing line. They both stare at each other blankly for a few seconds, and then Laurent does the unthinkable – he bursts into tears.

He buries his face in his hands and begins to sob, the kind of crying that starts off so emotional, so heavy, that you’re almost silent. It’s the kind of crying you only do when something terrible has happened, when something feels so gut-wrenchingly awful that you’re not sure when it’s going to get better. It’s the kind of crying that Laurent would be ashamed to do, to the point where he’d avoid Damen and even Auguste seeing him like this, let alone Jord from his dormitory. But now he’s broken the dam, and the river of emotion running through him has burst at its banks, and he can’t do much more than let Jord guide him by the shoulders up, up, up the stairs, right to the Sixth Year boys’ dormitory.

Gently, Jord sits him down on his pristine, unslept-in bed, and then he moves back over to the door and bewitches it locked from the inside. And then thankfully they’re alone, so Laurent just keeps crying, because he can’t seem to stop now he’s started. Jord comes and perches on the bed beside him, silent, untouching, but a familiar presence. Even though he’s embarrassed, Laurent is actually kind of glad, because given how he’s feeling right now he really doesn’t want to be alone.

“Let it all out, big guy,” Jord says softly after a few minutes, then brings a hand up to rub at Laurent’s back, just slightly. Laurent makes an effort to take a deep breath, in and out, in and out, and once he’s steadied his breathing he makes the move to wipe his eyes on his robes. He forces out several further deep breathes as he ties his hair up, then wipes his eyes and his nose one more time before he speaks.

“I’m usually better than this, I promise.”

“Everyone has their down days,” Jord says sagely, “although I have to admit that in the six years we’ve had rooming together I’ve never seen it. But that’s okay.”

“Everything just feels like it’s coming down on me at the moment,” Laurent says with a sigh, mopping at his nose again. It’s too honest for someone like Jord, but for some inexplicable reason Laurent feels like he can trust him. “I’m so confused at who I am or what I’m doing.”

There’s a pause, and then, “do you want to talk about it?” Jord asks. “I mean, I can’t promise I’ll be able to help, but I’ll do what I can.” Laurent sucks in a breath and doesn’t reply, not even when Jord tentatively asks, “is it Damen?”

Another pause.

“Do you want some time alone?”

“No,” Laurent grumbles reluctantly, quiet enough that he barely hears it himself. “ _ Godric _ , fucking hell, it’s just like… I’m a mess and whenever I need someone to blame it on it’s  _ always  _ fucking Damen and I hate that so much because I’ve never… before him I never cared about anybody, really, apart from my family and now…"

“But now you feel like you care almost too much?” Jord finishes for him, and he sounds a bit strangled. Laurent nods. “Yeah, I… I understand. I understand better than a lot of people probably do, actually.”

“Oh, shit, Jord, I’m…” Laurent tries, but Jord holds up his hand to cut him off. Jord’s not wrong – Laurent thinks he probably does get it, because his past with his boyfriend was nothing short of turbulent and awful and it’s something the whole school knows about, much to Jord’s disdain.

Jord’s boyfriend had been a bright young thing, a talented Quidditch player and Hufflepuff called Aimeric. Aimeric had been the youngest of four, the only Wizard in a family of Muggles, and his family were all rich and important and had high-flying jobs in the Muggle government. But all young Aimeric wanted was to play Quidditch, and his father made it very clear that having a wizard like him in the family, particularly one who was obsessed with a made-up sport over learning any magic, was a disgrace and a terrible secret they were forced to keep. Aimeric had suffered for months with the guilt, but when he and Jord came together it seemed that he’d gone some way into helping the kid accept himself a little more.

And then he brought Jord home and came out to his family, and it had been the final straw. His father had slapped him across the face and made it clear that there was no place for a wizard  _ and  _ a poof in the family, which is what sent Aimeric over the edge. It was like he had almost forgotten Jord and all that he had meant to him when he turned his wand on himself and used an ancient spell to try and turn himself straight, which of course had not worked. Nobody is quite sure what it did to him, or whether the effect is permanent, but he now resides in the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo’s, and has become quite close friends with Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Let’s not go there,” Jord requests. Laurent nods. “Let’s just say I know a little what it’s like to be so in love you think you’re going mad with it, only to watch that person be the source of your pain again and again.”

“It’s not even like I’m hurting because of him,” Laurent whispers. “When we’re good we’re amazing, and he’s just incredible, you know? He treats me better than I probably deserve, but then it’s me that fucks it up. I’m a mindfuck, Jord, and he’s too good for someone like me.”

“Do you really believe that?” Jord asks sadly, daring to rest a hand on Laurent’s knee. Laurent looks up sharply and he retracts it back. “Sorry. But I’m serious. Because even though it came as a shock that the two of you were together, granted, I think most people see it now. Most people…”

“This isn’t about most people, though,” Laurent argues. “When we had the argument that we just had in the Great Hall tonight, everyone looks at us as if we’re fucking circus animals. And on top of that, he’s  _ leaving,  _ Jord. He’s leaving, and next year I’m going to be on my own and he’ll be out in the real world doing a job and earning lots of money and meeting new people…” He trails off and toys with the ring on his finger. “Is it worth it? Will he want to stay with some mindfuck student who doesn’t like intimacy and who tries to push him away when the going gets tough?”

“He loves you,” Jord says simply. “You can tell that with one look at the pair of you. But have you spoken to him about this?”

“Um,” Laurent says, blinking at Jord. “No. Why would I talk to him about it?”

Jord looks at him like he’s got two heads. “You haven’t spoken about it with him?”

“Um, no?”

“Laurent, bloody hell,” Jord groans, shaking his head. “Why the bloody hell haven’t you?”

“Because,” Laurent cries exasperatedly, waving his arms around like a windmill, “he’ll say that it won’t happen and he’ll still love me even when we’re separate from each other.”

Jord keeps blinking at him, and Laurent frowns and wraps his arms around himself self-consciously. “So let me get this straight,” Jord says eventually. “You’re worried about being in a loving, caring relationship with a partner that adores you, and even though you’ll be here and he’ll be elsewhere next year you don’t want to talk about your future with him because you know if you do he’ll say he wants to stay with you and that he’ll wait?”

“Well, when you word it like that I sound like an arse,” Laurent tuts, and turns his face away. “But yes, that’s the gist. I’m just worried we’re going to promise each other all these things and then neither of us will be able to commit to them because I’ll be doing my N.E.W.T.S and he’ll be working, and then we’ll have to rely on owls or Floo Powder and it’s just…”

“Laurent, you’re being daft,” Jord interrupts bluntly. Then he goes quiet as he says, “look, I’ve lost someone before. I lost someone I thought I would be really long-term with, and he’s not coming back to me, alright? So as your friend, even if we don’t speak that much and you’re glaring at me right now, I’m not going to let you chuck this away. You’re good for each other, even if you are very different. You both want the same things, right?”

Laurent shrugs half-heartedly.

“You do,” Jord informs him. “You want each other, right?”

“I guess,” Laurent mumbles. “I do love him, even though I don’t tell him enough. And then there’s the…” He cuts himself off, slaps a hand over his mouth, and shakes his head. Jord, slightly startled, peers at him curiously, but Laurent just keeps shaking his head. It was about to slip, and he’s never been close to letting it slip before. Tears prick the corners of his eyes again, and Jord’s eyes go wide and he almost reaches for Laurent again before he thinks better of it and catches himself. He must look a right state, like the subject is firmly off limits, because Jord hastily changes the subject, something Laurent is grateful for.

“Are you going to sleep here tonight?”

Laurent, still trying desperately to calm himself down, shakes his head. “I… I can’t,” he huffs out, nearly choking on the words. He needs Damen because if it’s going to slip out to anyone it has to be him. He needs him. “I can’t… I wouldn’t be able to sleep without him.”

Jord gives a little knowing smile and nods. Then he frowns again. “Are you alright? You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“No,” Laurent says hoarsely. It’s all he can think about, and he can feel hands on him that shouldn’t be there, fingers crawling over his skin and lips pressed to his ear, whispering words that make him feel ill. He can’t do this. Everything is horrible and awful and he’s never going to feel free. But Damen… Damen is there, or he should be there, and sometimes he makes Laurent feel free. He wants to feel free. He stands up and nearly trips over his own feet, and Jord hurries to jump up and support him. He flinches back harshly without meaning to, and hurt and confusion flash across Jord’s face. “Sorry, I’m… sorry,” he croaks. “I need to… Damen… I should go.”

Jord holds up his hands. “Hey, you do what you need,” he mumbles, still clearly baffled by Laurent’s sudden shift. “Do you need help getting back to the tower?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Laurent flaps desperately, and he doesn’t realise how hard he’s trembling until Jord reaches for his hand and squeezes. It’s a gentle move, and while Laurent does immediately want to flinch as he usually does from any touch that isn’t from Damen or his brother, he squeezes back and takes a deep, gulping breath.

“Come on, let’s get you back to your boy,” Jord says firmly. There’s no room for argument as he keeps a solid grip on Laurent’s hand and guides him towards the door, which is bewitches unlocked. They move down the stairs clumsily, but his grip doesn’t let up, and then they walk out the portrait hole and move through the corridors. Laurent finds himself wishing he’d taken his hair down so his face is covered, even though there’s no mistaking his long blond hair and Ravenclaw robes. The walk seems to take ages, but Jord is a constant reassuring presence beside him, and when they finally arrive at the familiar portrait that leads upstairs Jord asks, “do you know the password?”

Silently, Laurent nods. There’s a heavy silence between them for a second, and Laurent knows he should thank Jord at the very least, but when he does open his mouth to try and speak his voice comes out garbled.

“Hey,” Jord says again, putting both hands on Laurent’s shoulders and shaking a little. Laurent reluctantly looks up. “Laurent. It’s okay. You’re back here and we… well. I would like to know how things pan out for you after this, but we really don’t have to speak about this again if you don’t want to.”

Laurent gives a tight nod, licking his dry lips, and Jord drops his hands from his shoulders and offers a tight smile.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Laurent finally manages, and then once Jord has walked off and is safely out of earshot he croaks out, “Fluxweed.”

The portrait swings open and he trudges up the stairs, feeling numb. The voices in his head are loud, louder than they’ve been in ages, but they’re familiar ones. They’re the ones that normally wake him up at night or startle him into a panic attack, ones that Damen kisses away without knowing and ones that he thought were dying, slowly but surely.

_ There’s a good boy. _

_ You’ve made your uncle so proud. _

_ You’re doing very well, good lad. _

_ I love you. _

Choking and spluttering, tears are streaming down his face by the time he’s stumbled through the bedroom door, and blessedly Damen is there to catch him before he crumbles and shatters. Damen’s  _ there _ , he’s not a figment or a dream, and he takes Laurent in his arms and crushes him to his chest, muttering nothings into his hair as he moves them towards the bed, and when they collapse onto it they don’t get the angle quite right and they end up smacking heads. Damen swears loudly but he doesn’t let go, and for some reason that makes Laurent’s heart swell. It’s so Damen, and he loves Damen, and Damen makes him feel things that he's never felt before, that he’s never known before. There’s just something about being in the arms of the person that you love the most, and Laurent feels absolutely horrendous, worse than he’s felt in a long time, but at least he has Damen.

For a little while they don’t say anything, they just hold one another, and Laurent takes the time to lie there and regulate his breathing. And then he remembers why he’s lying like this in Damen’s arms, and for a split second he can almost feel those hands on his skin again, smell that rancid breath that smelt like cheap wine and cigars, and he flinches and lets out a muffled shriek, almost shoving Damen off the bed in his haste to get away.

“Laurent, stop,” Damen shouts thickly, grabbing him as best he can and pinning him down, forcing him to look up and at his face. “Laurent.  _ Baby _ , what’s going on? I’m really… I’m so confused and a little scared, I’ll be honest with you. Please.”

“Get off me,” Laurent demands, and with a heavy groan Damen does as he’s told and moves back, sitting back on his haunches as Laurent sits up and sorts himself out. Tugging out his ruined ponytail, he tosses the hair tie to one side and then pulls his cloak off, then unties his shoes and drops them over the side. He pointedly keeps his eyes away from Damen, and thankfully it seems like Damen knows better than to touch him. Once he’s kicked everything off and he’s feeling a little more comfortable in himself he looks up, and when he looks at his boyfriend his heart sinks.

Damen is wearing his favourite Quidditch sweatshirt and a pair of Laurent’s jogging bottoms, short enough on him that they bunch up mid-calf. His hair is a mess, his eyes red and sunken like he’s been crying, and he’s trembling; it’s not obvious, but Laurent can tell by the way he’s wringing his hands together that he doesn’t want to make it obvious. He lets his eyes drop closed, and when he opens them again he lets out a ragged sigh.

“We need to talk.”

“No, please, no,” Damen says, and already it sounds like he’s begging. “I can’t, Laurent, I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” Laurent asks, voice quivering.

_ He knows, he knows, he must know. _

“You’re ending this, aren’t you?” Damen practically wails. He’s shaking really heavily now, so much so that Laurent can feel it through the mattress. “You’re breaking up with me.”

“ _ What?” _

“You’ve been… funny these past few weeks, since that nightmare you had. And then there was how you were at the party and how you ran away from me and I thought we were brewing for either a fight or a breakdown, but I just… I can’t work it out with you at the moment and that scares me. I’m only interested in seeing you happy,” Damen says, voice smaller than Laurent has ever heard it. “You deserve the world, Laurent, and I really would like to be the one who gets to give it to you. But if you think that I can’t then I understand.”

“No,” Laurent says, shaking his head so violently that he dislodges his ponytail. “No, no, no, no,  _ no,  _ Damen, I can’t, I just can’t.”

Damen covers his mouth and it sounds an awful lot like he’s choking back a sob. “So this is it?” he asks. “It’s over?”

“What?  _ No,”  _ Laurent cries, lunging forward to grab Damen’s hands. He squeezes them and brings one to his mouth, kissing his palm. Damen lets out a haggard breath and flops forward, and when they do embrace they meet in the middle, desperate and scrambling for purchase at each other’s backs. “Fuck, Damen, no. I don’t… don’t leave me.” His words come out as barely a whisper towards the end, and Damen shakes his head into his shoulder.

“I won’t, I promise I won’t,” he all but sobs back. He squeezes Laurent tight, bordering on too tight, but Laurent doesn’t mind even a little bit. He needs this more than he needs air. “But I need to know, Laurent. I need to know what I can do to make this better because it hurts, seeing you hurt like this. It really fucking hurts, and I know that probably sounds empty when you’re clearly hurting a hell of a lot more than I know.”

“Damen…”

“And I’m sorry if it comes across as selfish that I’m curious about what happened, and if it does then yes, I’m selfish but I’m also so fucking in love with you that I want to make sure you understand that I’m not leaving you unless you leave me first, and if that’s what you want…”

“It’s never going to be what I want,” Laurent croaks. “I just… shit, Damen. My brain never stops telling me  _ you’ll  _ be the one to leave once you know.”

Damen shakes his head roughly, still gripping at Laurent desperately. “I won’t, baby, never…”

“I got raped,” Laurent blurts, and as soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets them because Damen looks like a bucket of ice water has been chucked over his head. Completely rigid, his hands even go stiff where they were holding Laurent tight, and the only sound that can be heard for a good few moments is Laurent’s heavy, panting breaths.

He decides he doesn’t want to wait for him to say anything first, so he barrels on.

“When we first had sex and you asked if it was my first time… well. You were the first time that I wanted to have, alright? It was perfect and I love you and I really understand if you can’t love me anymore because I’m stupid and a bit used and I didn’t do anything to try and stop it. I let it go on and it’s my fault. So yeah, please say something. Please don’t keep looking at me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Damen croaks, and then it’s like his body and mind catch up with one another because he practically yanks Laurent into his arms and hauls him into his lap, squeezing him. It’s wrong and it’s uncomfortable, too much too soon. Laurent can’t breathe and he splutters a little, overwhelmed, and Damen immediately lets him go and shuffles back, like he’s suddenly been burned.

“Just…” Laurent can’t breathe. He really, truly can’t breathe, and Damen pushed him away and he’s about to cry. “Damen…”

“ _ Laurent,”  _ Damen chokes out. It sounds a lot like a sob. “I… my god, I…”

“If you want to leave, please go now,” whispers Laurent. “I need you to go.  _ Please. _ ”

“I’m sorry,” Damen says again. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“No, please go,” Laurent all but begs. “I can’t do this if you’re not going to fucking… you pushed me  _ away, fuck,  _ I’m so…”

Damen swears loudly, then reaches out, tentative, fingers crawling towards Laurent’s hand. “I didn’t… I didn’t think, I’m so sorry,” he repeats. Laurent snatches his hand before he can second guess himself and inches just a little closer. “You were cold and stiff and I didn’t think you wanted to be held. I misjudged that. I don’t want to push you away.”

“I need you to say something better than just ‘sorry’ then,” Laurent says, tone flat. “And now if you want to ask questions… I would rather we stick to facts, if you don’t mind. I’m just… I’m not so good with this sharing my feelings stuff, and I need to just say it all now if you’re gonna know.”

Damen wipes at his eyes and nods. “Okay, facts,” he repeats, voice hoarse. “I, um… who? And when?”

Laurent laughs a little hysterically, rubbing at his eyes. “Auguste is a year older than me, obviously. He came to Hogwarts and left me at home with… with him. It went on consistently for a year, and then I left and came here so I only had to go home during the summers. When Auguste was home it happened… it happened less but it still happened.” He sighs and toys with his fingers, pointedly looking at his lap and not at a single bit of Damen. “He only found out last summer after he died. He was our guardian and… well. They wanted to separate me and Auguste because I’m younger, and I had a bit of a breakdown in the middle of the Ministry. Auguste blames himself, the big idiot, and he applied for guardianship of me, like, minutes later.”

Silence reigns over them for a bit, and then Damen snarls, loud enough that Laurent jumps and flinches away. Damen rises from the bed and slams his fist into the wall above his desk, which makes Laurent yelp and jump to his feet. He rushes over to him and grabs his wrist, and Damen looks at him with the angriest eyes Laurent thinks he’s ever seen, angrier even than he remembers Auguste’s being on the day he told him.

“He’s dead, Damen,” Laurent whispers, biting harshly at his bottom lip. Damen blinks at him, tears pricking his eyes, but his arm stays stock still in Laurent’s grip. There’s a little blood collecting on his knuckles. “I’m angry too, but please don’t do that. Please. It won’t change anything.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Damen growls, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m going to find a spell that’ll bring him back and then I’m gonna fucking kill him again. I’m going to fucking…”

“Damen,” Laurent barks, digging his fingernails into his wrist. “Stop it. Sit down and let me fucking talk.”

And then Damen shifts, like he’s unfrozen himself, and he moves at a speed Laurent hasn’t seen from him off the Quidditch pitch he wraps Laurent up in his arms and begins to sob. Laurent, feeling rather helpless, can’t do much more than wrap his arms around Damen’s arms and he tries to be the taller one, the one who can engulf the other and make them feel safe, but he can’t, not when he’s the one who broke Damen like this. He has no idea how long they stand there, no idea how long he doesn’t move, but after a while he feels his legs start to buckle under Damen’s weight. Damen pulls back, hands moving down to his waist, and kisses him softly, just once, before he moves them back to the bed. Instead of sitting opposite each other they lie face to face, hands linked between them.

“Do you have any more questions?”

Damen sighs sadly. “Yeah,” he admits. “But I don’t want to ask them. I don’t want to see your face drop like that again.”

“Yeah, but I need to tell you now because I’m not going to be able to do it again,” Laurent whispers. “Please.”

The conflict is clear on Damen’s face but he eventually nods. “Alright,” he agrees. “So, like, can I know what happened?”

“Wow, okay, straight for the jugular,” Laurent laughs, hollow. “Okay, well… oral I guess. Both ways. Once I gotten used to that then he moved on to the other stuff. Fingers, and…”

“Do I do anything that makes you feel…” Damen starts, but he cuts himself off, wide-eyed. “Would you tell me if I did anything that, like, brings anything back?”

Laurent shakes his head. “No,” he promises. “But that’s why it took me a while to want to do anything, if you wondered. But now… fuck, Damen, with you it’s perfect. You make me feel so safe.”

“I… okay, that’s good, that’s good,” Damen says, letting out a haggard exhale. “I love you very much and I’d never forgive myself if I’d done anything.” He rests their foreheads together. “And you’re the best I’ve ever had too. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Laurent near whimpers. His heart is jackhammering against his chest and he presses closer and tangles his legs with Damen’s. “I was so scared you were going to bolt. You… and you still can, you know, if you want. You don’t have to keep loving me.”

“I’m going to love you for a long time, Laurent,” Damen says. With his big brown eyes shining bright and earnest and his grip still firm on Laurent’s hands, Laurent almost believes him. “Love doesn’t just stop.”

“It might,” Laurent whispers. “It might when you drop something like this on the person.”

“Did Auguste walk away?”

“No,” Laurent scowls after a beat, “but he never could. He’s my big brother.”

“And I’m your boyfriend,” Damen reminds him, nudging their noses together. “Who happens to be fond of both you and your brother. It doesn’t change anything.”

“But it does,” Laurent says desperately, because Damen doesn’t seem to understand. “I was old enough to get hard. I came sometimes. Not every time, but enough for me to know I’m a fucking freak.  _ Fuck,  _ I used to lie there and just take it and…”

“ _ Enough, _ ” Damen growls, dangerously low, cutting Laurent off. He looks murderous, and Laurent wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to punch something else. “No, Laurent, no. It doesn’t change a single thing. Because that was not your fault, that was rape.” And then, a lot more wretchedly, “do you really think it was your fault?”

It’s the one question Laurent didn’t want Damen to ask, because yes, yes he does think it’s his fault. Because it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t killed his mother by making her too weak to recover from her chronic illness after childbirth, and it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t begged his father to go and get him a Chocolate Frog late one night where he was mugged and left for dead in a Muggle alleyway. It wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t take so much pride in his appearance, and he wouldn’t have happened if he was perhaps a little more like Auguste – tall, manly, rugged, outdoorsy. Laurent is small, quiet, bookish, a homebody. Laurent would never have told if they hadn’t threatened to separate him from Auguste. He would never have told anyone, because how can he let people know that he was the one that caused it to happen?

He bursts into tears again; loud, ugly, messy sobs spill from his throat and he cries like he’s never cried before in his life. He didn’t cry like this even when his father died, didn’t cry at all when his uncle died, and aside from up in Ravenclaw Tower with Jord he hasn’t cried in front of anyone that wasn't his brother in nearly a year. Instantly he’s crushed against Damen’s chest, boxed in until he can barely breathe, but he needs it,  _ needs this,  _ because otherwise he feels like he might explode into a thousand unfixable pieces.

“It isn’t your fault,” Damen’s saying, voice too close and too far away both at once. “It isn’t, it  _ isn’t,  _ Laurent,  _ please… _ ”

Laurent can’t answer. He can only cry, and cry, and cry, until his throat feels raw and his lungs ache and his skin is flushed redder than Damen’s Gryffindor shirt. He wraps his arms around Damen’s neck, where he also tucks his face, and cries, and cries, and cries. Damen doesn’t let up his hold even a little, but he readjusts their bodies so he’s cradling him to his chest, mumbling incoherent ramblings that Laurent can’t comprehend, not that he really cares to try. He brushes his lips across Laurent’s forehead again and again, hard, soft, gentle, protective, but they both know it’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough, not when all Laurent can feel is pain and all Damen can do is hold him.

It’s a long night for the two boys. A long, long night.

*

The next day, Laurent goes to have breakfast with Auguste.

Auguste is pretty popular amongst his peers, and when Laurent approaches the Gryffindor table, he sees that he’s already surrounded by people, boys and girls alike. Some he recognises and some he doesn’t, but it doesn’t make him feel any less awkward approaching them. Auguste has his head thrown back in a laugh at whatever the girl on his left is saying, but once he spots Laurent his grin falters and he scrambles out of his seat straight away, ignoring his friends calling his name behind them.

“Shit, you look awful,” is the first thing he says, then he winces. “Okay, that was a bit mean, but you don’t look great.” He takes Laurent’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, and Laurent fights the urge to squirm away. It’s just Auguste after all, and the last thing he wants is to draw any more attention to himself. “What happened?”

“Can we not talk here?” Laurent croaks. Auguste nods quickly and goes back to his table, grabbing his bag and then, on an afterthought, a plateful of croissants. Laurent can’t hear what excuse he’s giving to his mates but he’s back at his side fast enough, leading Laurent out of there with a hand on his shoulders.

“Where do you want to go?” Auguste asks him. “Your dormitory?”

“Haven’t been back to my own dormitory in weeks,” Laurent admits with a shrug, and he even laughs a little as Auguste lets out a noise of faux-disgust. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Well, is Damen still in his bedroom? Could we go there?”

Laurent shakes his head. “He’s still asleep. He sleeps like the dead, and honestly I’d rather leave him sleeping. We both had a really exhausting night last night.”

“ _ Laurent. _ ”

Despite himself Laurent laughs again. “Not like that, bloody hell,” he corrects a horrified-looking Auguste. “We… no, shit, I can’t tell you here, I’ll cry.”

Auguste stops walking. “You told him?” he asks, barely a whisper. “You…?” Biting his lip and balling his hands into fists, Laurent nods. He doesn’t speak because he’s already seconds away from crying. “Fuck.”

“Auguste, please,” Laurent whimpers. He isn’t quite sure what he’s begging for. “Can we…?”

“Yeah, fuck, yeah, okay,” blabbers Auguste, then nods towards the main stairwell. “Damen’s got that common room bit, hasn’t he?” Laurent nods. “Do you know the password?” Laurent nods again. “Okay, let’s go there.”

The walk is short but frantic, and once they get to the portrait hole it takes Laurent three goes to stammer out the correct password. But it does eventually swing open and the brothers stumble in, and once they get to the common room Laurent opens his arms, a little whimper escaping his mouth without him meaning to, and Auguste sweeps him up and hugs him painfully tight.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Auguste soothes again and again, until his words sound jumbled and all Laurent can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears.

“Is it?” he has to ask, voice shaky. “I told him, Auguste. I told him and I’ve never been…  _ fuck.  _ It was fucking awful.”

“Talk to me,” Auguste prompts, pressing Laurent onto the sofa with gentle hands on his shaky shoulders. “Start from the beginning.”

So Laurent does. He tells him about the fight they had in the Great Hall (mostly Damen’s fault) and then about bumping into Jord and having a bit of breakdown (definitely Laurent’s fault) and then how he nearly blurted it out to Jord, which made him realise he needed to get it out of his system and tell Damen. And then he’d told Damen, and Damen had cried and punched a wall, and then they’d both cried and Damen had threatened to hit more things. And then he’d fallen asleep, tear tracks still staining his cheeks, still fully clothed, and Laurent had lain awake for hours afterwards, convinced he’d fucked up.

“You haven’t fucked up,” Auguste snaps adamantly, then takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Sorry, I… sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. But I promise you, you haven’t fucked up. He needed to know at some point.”

“Did he?” Laurent croaks, still trembling. “I feel like it would have been better if he didn’t.”

“Laurent…”

“Because this is so fucking heavy, Auguste,” Laurent barrels on. “It’s too heavy. He’s too… he’s so good, Auguste, isn’t he? He’s never been exposed to this kind of shit before. And I know he was curious about what happened to me but I don’t think he ever thought it was this bad. He wasn’t ready.”

“Which is not your fault, or his,” says Auguste. “It’s not the kind of thing you can ease someone into. It was bad, there’s no two ways about it.”

“I know,” Laurent snaps, defensive. “Which is why I should never have said anything.”

“Hey, I’m only trying to say it as it is,” Auguste says, holding up his hands. “I… I have thought for a long time that you should be telling Damen.”

“Oh yeah?” Laurent asks, crossing his arms across his chest. “Well, why don’t you keep your opinions to himself?”

“Fucking hell, Laurent, I didn’t come here to argue with you,” says Auguste, clearly exasperated. “But you know what? I’ve been where Damen is right now, and while I’ll fucking kill the bloke myself if he upsets you or whatever, you have to remember it’s not easy being on this side either.”

“Yeah, it’s hard on you,” Laurent scoffs. Auguste growls, low in his throat.

“Do you think it was a walk in the fucking park hearing that your little brother went through…” He cuts himself off and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Laurent, finding that out was truly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Worse than losing Mother and Father, and that’s the truth.”

“No,” Laurent says darkly. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Auguste says snappily, running a hand through his hair. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it. I hate myself every day for that. But you have Damen now, who loves you right and is someone you can separate from that ordeal completely.”

“But I can’t separate you, is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying that once we leave this place and we can finally move out of that fucking house and feel liberated, it’s always going to linger.” Auguste sighs and tries to reach for Laurent, but he leans back. He doesn’t want anyone touching him right now. “But these things take time and until then you’ve found someone you love, and who loves you. And that’s… well, fuck, Laurent, you’ve never been happier than since you’ve been with Damen. I’ve been there with you your whole life.”

“Auguste, no.”

“When Father was alive you never once smiled, do you know that?” Auguste shakes his head. “And since starting Hogwarts you’ve changed for the better. You smile a lot more and yeah, you never had a lot of friends but that’s okay.”

“Wow, you are really selling me,” Laurent hisses.

“ _ Listen, _ ” Auguste snaps back. “Being with Damen has changed you, in the best of ways, and I don’t think you can disagree with that. And what you had before was the wrong kind of love, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to stop it. But what you have with Damen… well, I’ll be damned if I let you throw away the type of love that some people spend their whole lives looking for. I would  _ kill  _ to fall in love like you have.”

“But we’re so young,” Laurent croaks, his shoulders slumping. He doesn’t want to argue either, not when he feels second off crying again. “Damen’s only eighteen, and he’s just had the baggage from hell dumped on him. I feel awful.”

“Can you imagine growing old with Damen? Can you imagine living with him once you leave this place and being with him and making a life together?”

Laurent is quiet for a second before he says, “Yes. I can. I can’t imagine life without him now.”

“And yet you want to break up?”

“I’ve never wanted to break up with him,” Laurent whispers. “I just feel like I should.”

“What will it take for you to understand that he won’t flee?” Auguste asks, leaning forward and squeezing his knee. “I’ve been mates with the guy since I was eleven, Laurent. He’s never been like this before.” He chuckles. “You know, I remember when you first got together and he was scared to tell me. He was scared that I’d demand he break it off with you so he wanted to prove himself before I found out.”

“But I’d already told you,” Laurent says, confused.

“Of course you had, and I don’t know if the poor sod was just naïve or a little thick or what, but he was trying hard, bless him,” Auguste laughs. “And yeah, like the rest of the school at first I was like wow okay, is he only doing this because he’s found out Laurent always had a crush on him? Or does he genuinely like him?”

“I didn’t always have a crush on Damen,” Laurent gasps, outraged. “He was your best mate, I had to be nice to him.”

Auguste gives him a look. “Yeah, alright. And my name is Helga Hufflepuff.”

“Whatever,” Laurent scowls. “Get to your point.”

“My point is, I’m not going to let you push one of the best things that’s happened to you away,” Auguste says gently. “I think you’re right to be cautious, because what you’ve just told him is heavy and shitty and he’s going to be confused and out of his depth. That’s normal. It doesn’t mean he wants to break up with you.”

Laurent eyes his brother suspiciously. “You’ve been rehearsing this conversation in your head for quite some time, haven’t you?”

Auguste laughs. “I have, yes,” he admits. “Because I’ve been watching you recently, little brother, and you’ve… you’ve been gearing for a breakdown for a while. I saw it in you with the whole Torveld thing, you know, when it first started. You don’t do well with any kind of attention unless you initiate it.”

“I just don’t like being looked at,” Laurent scowls. “And that was so weird. I’m still very weirded out by all that, and I haven’t even had a chance to tell you or Damen what he said to me yesterday.”

“What? When did you see him yesterday?”

“We have lessons together, you know,” Laurent tuts. “I can’t just avoid him forever.” He sighs. “But he came over to me in the library. Apparently he wanted to apologise but he kept slipping into the conversation how you and Damen were both leaving next year so I’d probably be lonely and he’d be there.”

Auguste’s mouth drops open, outraged, and he bangs his fist against the arm of the sofa. “What a piece of shit,” he hisses, and then, “Wait. So he’s the one who got you all riled about Damen leaving?”

“Damen was always going to leave,” Laurent says flatly. “He’s going to leave and he’s going to go on to do amazing things, and I might get left behind. I accepted that pretty much as we got together.”

“No,” Auguste says gruffly, but his voice is drowned out easily by one that’s louder, angrier,  _ sadder.  _ Laurent turns and he spots his boyfriend stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped and his beautiful eyes shining with an upset that he’s not seen before. He feels a little sick as he wonders just how long Damen’s been stood there. There’s silence, and then Damen charges forward and takes Laurent in his arms, a sound unlike any Laurent has heard before leaving his lips.  _ Fuck,  _ Damen is so  _ sad,  _ trembling in Laurent’s hold, and neither of them speak for a long time.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says eventually, voice wobbly, and Laurent can’t do much else but nod. He mumbles something incoherent and then pulls Damen back into him, tight enough to hurt, and tries not to think about how he doesn’t believe him.

Auguste leaves after a few awkward words, and Laurent, bitterly tired, refuses to let go of Damen even though they both have classes to go to. Damen doesn’t let go of him either, and every few moments he brushes his lips over Laurent’s skin. It feels like a silent message, a story that Damen wishes to tell over and over, and Laurent listens, silent, still, exhausted.

Laurent only makes it to one class that day, and when Jord comes over to ask how he’s doing he doesn’t give much of an answer, mainly a shrug. His teacher doesn’t comment on his earlier absence either, so he must look as rough as he feels, and he’s grateful when Auguste finds him afterwards and tells him to go back to Damen’s common room and he’ll meet them both there later with dinner so he can avoid the Great Hall.

He sleeps a little better that night and when he wakes up he realises Damen is already awake, smiling at him rather than frowning. It almost startles him, and he blinks a few times before he slides his hand into Damen’s and squeezes.

“You okay?” he mumbles, voice still thick and heavy with sleep. Damen nods.

“You’re beautiful,” is all he offers before he kisses him, and Laurent lets himself melt into it and pretend for now that everything will be okay.

*

The first time they try to have sex after Laurent’s revelation, Damen cries.

Laurent holds him close, still naked, still hard. It had started off innocent kisses, both of them exhausted after a week of near-constant study for their final exams just before the Christmas break, but then the kisses got heated and Laurent had climbed into Damen’s lap, rutting against him. Shirts are pulled over shoulders and trouser buttons are fumbled undone, and Laurent presses Damen against the pillows and starts kissing down the length of his body, slick, open-mouthed, teasing. He nips at his neck and slides his hands down his chest, and once he reaches Damen’s boxers he teases the waistband for a moment and tongues at Damen’s belly button.

Damen has an arm thrown over his face, his breathing loud and laboured. He moans out Laurent’s name as Laurent rubs his hand over the bulge in Damen’s boxers, and then moans it again when he kisses it.

“Laurent…”

Smirking, Laurent moves his hands up a bit to pull Damen’s boxers down. His cock springs free, hard and heavy and wet, curling up towards his belly. He’s got a lovely cock, not that Laurent would voice it, thick and long and always so wet. There’s something exceptionally hot about how wet Damen gets for Laurent, and Laurent loves getting his hands and mouth around it. It’s too big for him to take all the way into his mouth, but he’s getting better with practice.

“ _ Laurent, _ ” Damen groans. Laurent leans forward and kisses the tip, then he starts to tongue at the slit. Damen whines and bucks up his hips, so Laurent takes pity and finally opens his mouth for Damen’s cock. It’s hot on his tongue, pulsing. Laurent slides down and then back up, a hand wrapped around the base, and he starts to move in time with his fist in order to cover as much of his length as he can, spread the pleasure around. After a few strokes he starts to press down further, further, further, opening his throat as best he can. It’s tough as it always is, and he gags a little before he pulls back off. He goes back in, and for a split second his eyes meet Damen’s. His initial reaction is to smirk, but suddenly Damen is shuffling up the bed, legs kicking out awkwardly in his haste to get away.

“Damen?”

“No, no, no, no, stop,” Damen cries out, covering his face with his hands. “Stop, just…”

“ _ Damen, _ ” Laurent shouts, panicked, too panicked to move or do much more than gape at him. “Damen, what happened? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, no, I can’t, I fucking can’t,” Damen chants. Laurent can tell even from the other side of the bed that he’s trembling, cock now hanging limp and awkward between his legs. He’s just about to say something else but then Damen lets out an almighty sob, loud and gut-wrenching. It startles him and for a second he daren’t crawl forward, but then Damen cries out his name and he scrabbles forward, launching himself into his boyfriend’s arms. Damen holds him like he fears he might be taken away, and Laurent’s heart breaks for the second time in five minutes as Damen cries into his shoulder and doesn’t stop chanting his name.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he tries to soothe, rubbing his hand up and down the back of Damen’s head. “It’s okay, Damen, it’s…”

“It isn’t,” Damen spits. There’s an anger in his words that Laurent was not expecting. “It’s not because he… he saw you like that and he made you do that for his own fucking filthy pleasure and that’s…  _ Laurent. _ ”

“Don’t,” croaks Laurent, going cold. “Please don’t. That’s not…  _ please,  _ don’t do this. Don’t mention that when we’re in bed together.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Damen continues to weep, and then, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Laurent echoes, helpless, desperate. He very much wants to cry himself. “Here, just… just hold me, yeah?”

Damen does. Damen doesn’t let up his hold on him for hours; he holds him long after the crying has stopped and long after they’ve both gone completely soft and long enough so neither of them know whether it’s late night or early morning. After a while, Damen does pull back and kisses Laurent’s forehead, then moves to the bathroom where he stays for a long time.

That night, they fall asleep back to back rather than curled up around each other for the first time in weeks. Damen, always one who’s able to fall asleep anywhere at any time drops off fairly quickly, but Laurent lies awake for hours, heart hurting, eyes stinging, wondering if he’s broken the best thing he’s ever had in his life.

*

The next three weeks are hell for both of them.

Everything isn’t okay, of course. Laurent has always been good at pretending, has been pretending to be okay for longer than he’s not been, but now they both know that things will never be the same as before, and within a few days cracks begin to show.

“Kiss me,” Damen will ask before they part in the mornings, or before they go to sleep. And sometimes Laurent will and sometimes he won’t, because he’s still hurting because Damen  _ pushed him away.  _ He’s still hurting so he only kisses him when he knows he can’t escape it, and it feels nothing like it did before.

“Talk to me,” Damen will beg, and Laurent won’t. He doesn’t want to talk to Damen because he doesn’t want to answer questions or talk about his feelings. So he doesn’t.

“Come back to me,” Damen will cry, and Laurent doesn’t know how, not properly. He tries to keep his distance, but sometimes it hurts too much to be apart, and even though he feels like he’s pretending the whole time, sometimes he needs to be close to Damen again, holding him, talking to him, kissing him.

Good days and bad days. That’s where they’re at now. Some mornings they’ll wake up, and Laurent can tell from the first few blinks of Damen’s tired eyes whether it’s going to be a good day or a bad day.

Good days are where they don’t row, where they hold hands under the table as they eat their croissants before class and where they play footsie in the library and where they’ll kiss each other’s knuckles and foreheads and shoulders just to remind the other they’re still there. Good days are where they can study together silently and be content with the knowledge that the other is just there, and no thoughts drift to unwanted territory. Where they can joke and snog and make fun of Auguste and high-five across the table as he scowls. Where they can cuddle in front of the fireplace in Damen’s common room as the nights grow colder, reading or playing board games or talking about inane things like what they’d do if they were kings for the day.

Bad days are when Laurent wakes up shaking from a bad dream, or Damen wakes up to a bleary-eyed boyfriend who was unable to sleep the night. Bad days are where they fight like cat and dog, picking up on the smallest tick that one may have about the other and cursing the other for it. Bad days are where they drift, where they don’t hold hands or steal food of the other’s plate or kiss goodnight. They’re where Laurent feels like shit and Damen looks like he might punch someone. They’re when Laurent wonders for the thousandth time whether breaking up with Damen would be more of a kindness for him than a curse for them both.

He’s definitely more hostile than usual, and he knows he’s being a dick but he can’t seem to stop. And suddenly it seems like the bad days happen more frequently than the good days, and then every day feels like a bad day, and Laurent is stuck. Because he’s in a spiral of self-hate that has always been wound so tight that he’s kept it contained, but now Damen knows, and Damen pities him, and it feels like the box he shoved all that hatred into has exploded and is burning his skin like acid rain. He can’t stand the pity, he can’t stand the glances and the sadness in them, he can’t stand the misunderstandings and the fact that there are still so many questions that Damen wants him to answer, but more than all of that he hates that the nightmares have come back to him in full force, and he’s so tired but they stop him from sleeping, because every night he lets himself they seem to get worse.

And he’s not strong enough to be alone during them anymore. He’s known love, he’s known lust, he’s known gentle touches and soft caresses, he’s known skin on skin, mouths on mouths, hands on cocks. He knows what it’s like to do it right, but in the dark of the night, when the world sleeps and he’s alone, he remembers the wrong. He remembers the fear, he remembers the force, and he remembers the pain and the hurt and the tears that would prick his eyes as he tried not to scream.

He’s not strong enough to do it alone, and it’s the one time Damen won’t talk, he’ll just be there and hold him and keep him safe. And sometimes he thinks he could do it alone next time, but then he closes his eyes and sees the flashes of his face, feels his dirty hands on his hips and his sick breath, warm on the back of his neck. And then he realises he can’t do it alone, not now he’s knows that the best way to stop it is to be in Damen’s arms. He just hopes that as time goes by he starts to have them less and less, and he also learns to do it alone.

But even though everything is weird, he still sleeps beside Damen every night.

Because the nightmares don’t stop.

_ Godric,  _ he just wants them to stop.

*

Auguste is in the library making a set of awkwardly cut, scribbled cue cards out of old scraps of parchment when Damen comes by.

It’s odd that he’s there, but it shouldn’t be odd, because even though Damen is now his little brother’s boyfriend, he was first and foremost Auguste’s best mate, and it hits him like a slap when he realises that isn’t what he immediately associates him as anymore.

Damen and Auguste had come together on their first day at Hogwarts. Damen, a Halfblood with a loud laugh and more knowledge of Quidditch than Auguste knew an eleven-year-old could have, had asked the lone Auguste if he could sit in his compartment on the train, and the two had become fast friends from there. And then they were both sorted into Gryffindor and suddenly they were also roommates, and from there the pair never looked back.

Both on the Quidditch team, both clever and witty and popular and loud and capable of charming the fire off a Phoenix, they were the golden boys of the school in no time. One teacher had once gone so far as to remark it was like having Harry Potter and Ron Weasley back, and in a way Auguste saw it and understood. He loved his best mate like a brother, and even though he could be a bit dopey and a bit naïve at times, he was still the one Auguste could talk to about any problem, tell any story, or ask any question.

Before Laurent, Damen had been a bit of a player. He liked girls and he liked boys and he liked sex, and that was no secret. Auguste remembers being gobsmacked the night Damen had crawled behind the thick curtains to his four-poster bed and regaled the story of how he had just lost his virginity in the fifth floor bathroom to someone in his Divination class, and that story spread like wildfire in no time. Damen became something of a legend, and Auguste was his sidekick.

Auguste himself dated here and there, but like Damen (or so he thought) he just wanted to have fun and kiss a lot of pretty girls. There were just so  _ many  _ pretty girls at Hogwarts, how could either of them be expected to pick just one?

But Damen did pick. He picked a pretty boy instead of a pretty girl, a boy with long blond hair and a sour expression and a brilliant mind. Damen had picked the last person that Auguste was ever expecting him to pick, probably the only person that Auguste held closer than Damen, and he had picked him with such certainty that it took Auguste aback.

Because Laurent and him both have a past, and it was a past he had never planned to tell anyone about, not even Damen. What his brother endured was unthinkable, abominable, the worst thing that could have ever happened to him, and to this day Auguste can’t think about it without wanting to scream and cry and rip a certain someone’s head clean off. And it’s never been Damen’s thing to know, except now it is, and by the look on his tired, gaunt face it seems like it’s all he can think about too.

“Hi,” Auguste says, slowly, awkwardly. The pair have never been awkward around each other  _ ever,  _ but this is definitely the kind of situation that changes things.

“Hi,” Damen says back, gripping the strap on his satchel tight, too tight. Auguste can see his knuckles going white. There’s a cough, and then, “can I sit?”

“You don’t have to ask,” Auguste says, but he gestures to the chair opposite regardless. Damen sits, and he folds his hands together and doesn’t say anything. Now it’s Auguste’s turn to cough. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Damen breathes out, uneasy, and he shakes his head. “No, I’m…” He laughs hollowly, and then runs a hand through the front of his hair. “I’m a bit of a mess at the moment, to be honest with you.”

Auguste purses his lips, because this could go either of two ways. He decides to bite the bullet and just ask, because either way his brother gets hurt or his best friend gets hurt, and neither seems favourable. “It’s Laurent, isn’t it?”

“I… yeah,” Damen says with another empty laugh. He looks down at his lap. “You know I love him, like, so much, don’t you?” Auguste doesn’t say anything back for a moment, so Damen barrels on. “I know we’re only young and it sounds naïve of me to say, and we’re talking about your little brother here, for fuck’s sake, but I want to spend the rest of my life with him.” He shrugs and sighs. “I just really, really love him.”

All Auguste can do is nod, a little bewildered.

“Does he know that?” Damen questions tentatively. “Because recently we’ve been…” He trails off and looks back down at his lap. “Fuck. I just…  _ fuck. _ ”

“Damen…”

“Look, Auguste, I need to… I need to talk to someone about this and, like, I know we’ve not spent that much time together of late but you’re still my best friend in the whole world, probably, and I know it’s hard because this is your brother and I understand that he’s more important to you than I’ll ever be, and I get that because  _ he’s  _ more important to me than I am, if that makes any sense.”

“It makes sense,” Auguste nods. “He’s… he’s a special kid, isn’t he?”

“The most special,” sighs Damen, a little wistful, and Auguste can’t help but smile. Say what you want about Damen, but even despite his reputation and old lifestyle, he remains one of the most loyal people that Auguste has ever known. “I adore him, and I want to be there for him, but I’m scared that he doesn’t want that.”

Auguste frowns. “Is he still pushing you away?”

Damen nods. “Sometimes, yeah. Well, to be honest it’s more often than not at the moment. He keeps having these night terrors, like, every few nights? So he still sleeps in my bed and he wants me during those, but aside from that it’s not…” He groans and shakes his head. “Sometimes I’ll, like, put my hand on his shoulder, nothing major, and he’ll tense up and nudge me off instantly. He never did that before, but now he’s told me what happened it’s like we’re going backwards.”

“He’s still… he’s still having the nightmares?” Auguste has to ask. He’s rigid and his stomach is tying itself in knots. Laurent had told him the opposite. “He told me they’d stopped.”

Damen pinches the bridge of his nose, visibly frustrated. “He hates showing weakness, doesn’t he?” Another groan. “I, um, I actually came to find you sort of tentatively because, um, well. We’re in the middle of a pretty shitty argument at the moment, actually?”

“Oh?” Auguste asks. “Can I ask what about?”

Damen swallows. “I just… he needs help, Auguste, and I just suggested some counselling, no potions or anything. I really want him to get some help, but he’s a stubborn prick, isn’t he?”

“I could have told you that wasn’t going to go down well,” Auguste says sympathetically, and he reaches over to squeeze Damen’s shaking hand. “I take it he either screamed in your face or bolted?”

“Both, actually,” Damen says, and to Auguste’s surprise and slight horror his bottom lip starts to tremble. “He was… pretty fucking horrible to me, to be honest.”

“Oh, Damen,” Auguste says gently.

“Like, I don’t care what people say about me or my relationship, I don’t care, but when it comes from him…”

“Yeah, I know,” Auguste says, and he gives Damen’s hand another squeeze. “He can be a right demon when he’s cross. He’s told me to fuck off and die once before.” He lets out a long, shaky exhale, that memory one that he often replays but doesn’t voice. “He never means it, obviously, but sometimes with Laurent I feel like because he was hurt so badly, he hurts others so easily to stop them hurting him first, if that makes sense.”

“I would give all the gold in Gringotts to sort it,” Damen says woefully. “If I could take away just one memory or one flashback or whatever, I would.”

“I know,” Auguste mumbles. “So would I. But even then the little fucker probably wouldn’t less us.”

“I know,” Damen echoes. He’s staring at his lap again, and when he does look up once more Auguste sees his eyes are shiny with tears. “Fuck, Auguste, I’m…” He buries his face in his hands and takes several haggard, deep breathes. “I need Laurent back. I need my boyfriend so much right now, and I don’t even feel like I can tell him what I need to tell him.”

“Tell him what?” Auguste asks carefully. “What’s happened?”

Before Damen speaks he wipes at his eyes with his robe, but a stray tear drips down and onto his chin. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “My dad is back in St Mungo’s,” he says, all in one breath. “He collapsed in the pub and they… they don’t know what it is this time. He was responding so well to the potions he was taking before and now they just…”

“Shit,” Auguste says dumbly. “Do they reckon he’s going to be okay?”

“They can’t say yet,” Damen mumbles. “All they know is he’s a lot weaker than he was when he went it before, and he’s not responding as well to the stuff they’re giving him now.”

“Shit,” Auguste says again. “Damen, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s not your fault,” Damen says miserably, and then, “so I’ve been given permission from Headmistress Granger to go and see him on Thursday. I’m excused from lessons all day.”

Auguste nods. “Okay, that’s positive, I guess. He would like that.”

“I know,” Damen says. “And I asked if I could bring someone for moral support and she said yes.”

“So you’re bringing Laurent?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Damen says, with a sigh so sad that Auguste’s eyebrows fly up. “I haven’t even told him about this yet. I… I don’t know how.”

“Oh my Godric,” Auguste breathes, shaky. “Seriously? Things are that bad?”

Damen nods and wipes at his eyes. “I need him, Auguste. I need him more than I’ve ever needed him before, and I’m fucking… I just need him. And he’s not there. And I’m sorry if that’s shitty because he’s got a lot on his mind too, but…”

“But he shouldn’t be making you feel so shit that you don’t feel you can say something about this,” Auguste says hotly. “Fucking hell, Damen, that isn’t on. Relationships work both ways.”

“I never wanted it to get this bad,” Damen weeps, shaking his head frantically. “I never even saw it getting this bad. I love him so much…” He trails off and starts crying openly into his hands, and Auguste can’t do much more than shuffle around the desk awkwardly and cuddle him in. He’s never seen Damen like this before, never in all their years of friendship, and it’s heartbreaking.

“I know,” he tries to soothe, sad and upset and confused at where this beautiful pair went wrong. “I know, babe.”

“I need him,” Damen says again, and even though they’re in the middle of the library and they’re both too big and too old to do it, the pair press close together and Auguste hugs him and strokes up his back like they used to do when they were homesick First Years while Damen cries unabashed into his hands. It really is heartbreaking, and Auguste knows he’s got to talk to his brother as soon as he can. If Damen can’t talk sense into him then maybe he can.

*

There’s nothing in the world that could have prepared Laurent for what he sees when he returns to his and Damen’s rooms that night.

He hears the first sob as he touches the door handle, the second as he pushes it open.

Damen is six foot two, about sixteen stone in weight, and broad all over. He’s toned and he takes a lot of care and pride in his body, and he is very much a manly man in that respect. Months of training for Quidditch have paid off, and he’s got the body and the muscles to prove it.

But the Damen that greets Laurent has never looked smaller. He looks like a boy rather than a man, curled up on the unmade bed with hands tucked under his chin. There are tear tracks staining his dark cheeks, and his eyes look sunken, his usually vibrant face gaunt and sad.

Laurent drops his bag and he doesn’t even bother to close the door. He moves quickly, quicker than he has in ages, and he clambers onto the bed and shuffles forward and as close to Damen as he physically can, so Damen’s head is resting in his lap. The angle is awkward but Damen clings to him as best he can, one hand gripping Laurent’s knee and the other his ankle. Laurent leans down and kisses his forehead, long, lingering,  _ loving. _

“Damen?” he questions tentatively. “Love, what’s…?”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because before he can Damen is sobbing. Loud, ugly sobs echo around the little room, and Laurent feels helpless as he pulls him as close as he can, cradling Damen’s head to his belly. Damen’s cries are too loud for him to speak over but Laurent knows that now isn’t the time to ask, not yet. He just keeps a hold on his boyfriend and he doesn’t let go.

Damen cries for a long while, until it sounds like he runs out of energy rather than he’s run out of sadness. He blinks as he looks like up at Laurent, and it’s with a raspy, tired voice that he croaks, “Will you hold me?”

“Course I will,” Laurent replies, and he slides down the bed so his legs are hanging off the end of the mattress but he can wrap his arms properly around Damen’s shoulders. He’s never been one to do the holding, not really, because Damen has a good half a foot on him in length and he’s always loved being the big spoon, folding Laurent into his arms and sleeping pressed together that way. And because of the size difference, he’s also always the one to throw an arm over Laurent’s shoulders or sit behind him on the sofas in the Common room, whereas Laurent will lean into his size to initiate the hold. It’s their dynamic. It’s how they’ve always done things.

But in all their time together Laurent has never seen Damen like this.

“Darling,” he tries again, soft. He slides his hand back into Damen’s hair. “Love, talk to me.”

“You never call me pet names,” Damen sniffs instead of answering. “Ever.”

Laurent doesn’t know what to say to that. “Oh,” is all he manages, and then, “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” Damen harrumphs, but he squeezes Laurent tight as he says it, like he can’t bare for them to be apart an inch. Laurent hugs him back and doesn’t say anything, but he feels the stab of embarrassment prod deep in his belly. He’s been a shit boyfriend and he hadn’t realised until now. He feels even worse when Damen pulls back again, eyes shiny with fresh tears, and he says, “My dad is back in St Mungo’s.”

“Damen, shit,” he croaks, and surges forward to engulf him in another dangerously tight hug. Damen clings back, crying softly into Laurent’s chest again, and Laurent wishes he knew what to do. “Is it bad?” he asks, then feels like a prize twat.

“It’s not… it’s not good,” Damen sniffs. He pulls back and focuses his gaze on Laurent. “He’s been there since Sunday and he’s not responding to the treatments they’re giving him. It’s a lot worse than, um, than it was before, I dunno. But I…” His bottom lip starts to tremble again, and Laurent pre-emptively clings a little tighter. “I can’t lose him, I just can’t.”

Hurt jabs him in the belly like a hot knife, because  _ Sunday?  _ “I know, darling, I know,” Laurent breathes instead of dwelling on it, because he does know. There’s no pain in the world like losing a parent, and he’s done it twice. And even though Damen grew up with only one parent, he never knew what it was like to lose a parent because he never had a mother to lose. Which probably makes it ten times worse, because his father is all Damen has. “It’s going to be alright, though, I promise.”

“Laurent, stop,” Damen says abruptly, with such forcefulness that Laurent almost jumps. “You’re breaking my fucking heart here.” He pulls back and wipes at his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t fucking do this if you’re going to keep breaking my heart.”

A chill runs up Laurent’s spine, cold,  _ dread _ . “What?”

“Is it going to be alright?” Damen spits. “Is it?”

“I…” Laurent flounders. “I mean… okay, I shouldn’t have promised. I’m sorry.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Damen says hotly. He wipes at his eyes again. “There’s a chance I’m going to lose my father and coupled with the chance that I’m about to lose you…” He looks positively thunderous as he says, “I’d rather you broke my heart in one awful go than you keep breaking it like this, over and over, because honestly? I’m running out of energy.”

“I…” Laurent says again, too terrified to form coherent words. He hates how his voice cracks as he says, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Then fucking act like it,” Damen shouts, not even bothering now to wipe away his stray tears. “This isn’t going to work for either of us if you only want me when  _ you’re  _ sad. Because I’m fucking  _ miserable  _ over here, and I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

“You didn’t tell me though,” Laurent fires back. “Am I supposed to be able to read your mind, Damen?”

“I’m not asking you to read my mind, I’m asking you to be the kind of boyfriend I can go to if I’m fucking scared that my dad is going to…” He doesn’t finish the sentence; he cuts himself off tersely and glares at Laurent with an anger that Laurent has never seen directed at him before. “I want you with me, Laurent. I fucking love you. Why don’t you get that?”

“I do get that,” Laurent replies hollowly. “And I love you too, and sometimes that feels like too much. I love you so much that it scares me, Damen, because I’m a broken piece of shit and you’re fucking wonderful.”

“You need to stop saying that,” Damen explodes, and he darts forward and grabs both of Laurent’s wrists and clings. Laurent fights back the urge to flinch, and then he grips Damen’s wrists right back, nails biting at his skin. “You are not a broken piece of shit, not at all. You are a boy who has had one hell of a past, but who has a boyfriend who adores you to the ends of the earth, and a brother who would do anything for you. Yeah, life dealt you a shitty deck of cards, but you’re strong enough to fight past it. You could be anything you wanted, Laurent, and I firmly believe that.”

He says it with such force, with such resolve, that it knocks the wind right out of Laurent’s sails. “You do believe that, don’t you?” he echoes in complete disbelief. “ _ Fuck.  _ You really do.”

“I definitely do,” Damen nods. “And I know we’ve had a fucktonne of fights recently and I’ve been a shit and you’ve been a shit, but I’m so  _ sad,  _ Laurent, and I really need my boyfriend. I need the boyfriend I’ve always had, the one that ran into the middle of a fucking Quidditch pitch screaming for me. The one who doesn’t snap at my every word and doesn’t make me feel like I can’t talk to you. Because that’s the one I have right now and I fucking hate it, Laurent. I should be able to tell you when I’m sad without feeling like it’s not a good enough reason to be.”

Laurent nods and moves forwards in tandem, throwing his arms around Damen’s shoulders and tucking his face into his neck. They sink down onto the mattress and lie there in each other’s arms for a long time, and Damen starts to cry again. He cries and he cries, and he gets it all out until both his and Laurent’s robes are ruined, soaked through with tears and sweat and snot, and Laurent lie there with him and shushes and soothes him as best he can. Because he may have been a shit, and he can readily admit to that, but he doesn’t know how to not be in love with Damen, so he clings and he kisses and he makes promises he knows he can keep into Damen’s damp chest.

When it seems like Damen is all cried out again, he rolls over so his back is to Laurent’s chest, and Laurent folds his legs around him so they’re spooning comfortably. In an ideal world he’d be a little longer, but right now he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Will you come with me to visit my dad on Thursday?” Damen sniffs after a while. “I’ve asked Headmistress Granger and she’s excused us both from lessons that day.”

“Both of us?” Laurent asks, a little bewildered. “Really?”

Damen nods. "I want you there. and you know, if this is, um, if this is the end I want you to have met him at least once. That would mean a lot to me."

There are a million and one thoughts swirling around Laurent's head, and reasons why he shouldn't seem to be rising to the surface than reasons he should. But there's only one way he can answer this.

“Yes, of course I'll come with you. What time?"

"Thank you," Damen replies, and he sounds almost timid. "I really appreciate it."

Laurent kisses the back of Damen's neck, lets his lips linger there for a long moment. "Anything for you," he assures, sliding his hand up so it’s resting over Damen's heart. Thump, thump, thump. "I want to be better. I want us to be better."

"I believe you," Damen says, quiet. "But I mean it, Laurent. If your heart is no longer in it then please don't break mine any more than you have to."

"No," Laurent says, and he shakes his head against the pillow even though Damen can't see. "I... I don't think I'll be able to love anyone else like I love you. And I mean that. But if you tell anyone I'll bite your dick off."

He feels and hears Damen's smile more than he sees it. "I know, darling," he replies. "Can I hold your hand around the school again?"

Alarm bells ring, but Laurent pushes past them. "Yes. We... do whatever you think we need, honestly. Lead me and I'll follow because I'm truly so lost in my own head at the moment."

"That's okay," promises Damen. "But I need you to tell me that, sweetheart, rather than have you push me away. I'm not a mind reader like you are."

Laurent snorts. "I'm perceptive."

"Mind reader," Damen says again, then he rolls over in Laurent's arms and drapes an arm over his hip. "I would really appreciate it if you didn't shout at me for the rest of the week, too."

Laurent nods. "Understood. And I'll try."

Damen rolls his eyes. “I’ll take it, I guess,” he pretends to groan. Then his eyes drop to Laurent's lips, and Laurent finds himself licking them unconsciously. “Do you know it's been six days since we last kissed?”

Laurent hadn’t and he winces. “Fuck, I'm so sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand up to cup Damen's cheek. “I've been trash, haven't I?”

“Not trash, just distant,” Damen replies, and then, “can you kiss me now?”

Instead of replying, Laurent surged forward and connects their mouths. Damen's hands come up and fist in Laurent's hair, and they kiss for a long time; they kiss until their jaws hurt, until their lips are swollen and sore and all they can taste on their tongues is each other. They kiss for infinite minutes, blurring time and space because all that matters in those moments is kissing, and kissing, and kissing. Laurent sinks into it, finds himself sighing into Damen’s mouth like it's their first time, and for a few long seconds or minutes or hours it's only them in the whole world, and everything is them.

“Is that the kind of thing you had in mind?” Laurent dares to ask as he pulls back. Damen's lips are plump, kiss-bitten and wet, and he reaches forward and rests his index finger on the bottom one. “Fuck, you look…”

He's cut off almost instantly because Damen moves into his space and kisses him again, and the pair let their lips say everything they've not been able to voice over the past three weeks or so. There's a lot of emotion and exhaustion and frustration in there, but also a lot of love and want and comfort, and Laurent doesn't think that he’ll ever feel as loved by another as he does by Damen.

“Have I told you that I love you?” he gasps against Damen's mouth, and Damen nods but keeps kissing him - it's like now they've started they're unable to stop, and Laurent loves this. He loves kissing Damen more than anything, loves it more even than sex, because the closeness he gets to feel is unrivalled. Damen was his first kiss, his only kiss, and that feels like everything and more as they’ve both moulded the other to kiss exactly the way they like it. It’s not just about the way their lips work together, it’s about the way their bodies fit, the way their hands sit on hips or tangle in hair. The way they can become one single entity, not even a little apart in mind, body or soul. Laurent has never felt anything like the pleasure he feels from kissing Damen, and because he enjoys kissing so much he’s okay if the night ends with just that over sex a lot of the time.

Kissing is his drug, and Laurent never wants it to stop taking it.

“Baby,” Damen says awkwardly, then carries on kissing Laurent like it’ll physically pain him to stop. And then he forces himself back, gasping, and he takes Laurent’s face in his hands and just holds him while they both collect their breath. “Baby.”

“Damen,” Laurent croaks, wrapping his hands around Damen’s forearms. “Shit.”

“I know,” Damen nods. “I know. Fucking hell, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Laurent rasps. He’s itching to get his lips back on Damen’s but there’s time for that later. “I’m so sorry.” He sighs and lets Damen tease his lip with his thumb. “I missed you desperately but… I don’t know if I can tell you why I always nudged you off me or whatever because I don’t know myself.”

“Do you still want to break up?” Damen asks, and his tone makes it sound like he’s trying to go for teasing but the expression on his face is dark, like he’s genuinely worried to hear Laurent’s answer. But Laurent shakes his head wildly and grips at Damen’s wrists so his fingernails dig into the skin. He doesn’t want to hurt him, not at all, but he wants to feel grounded. Damen makes him feel grounded in a way he never has. Before he felt like he was floating, existing, surviving. But now Damen makes him feel like he’s excited for the next chapter of his life, a life he never knew he wanted, and he’s furious with himself that he let himself forget that for even a second, let alone these past three miserable weeks.

“Never,” he answers truthfully, and then, “I want you to come and live with me in the house next summer again.”

“Really?” Damen asks, biting his lip. “You want that?”

“I want that,” Laurent promises, nodding. “I don’t… I don’t want to sleep without you. I don’t think I’m able to sleep without you anymore.”

“Same,” Damen sniffs. “Fuck, even when things were really bad last week the idea of not having you beside me… well. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

“I wouldn’t go back to the Ravenclaw dormitory,” Laurent says with a shake of his head. “For a fucking start, Torveld is in it.”

Damen elicits a low growl, his bottom lip jutting out, and Laurent loves it so much when Damen goes all falsely territorial and possessive that he has to laugh. And then Damen laughs, and they meet in the middle for another searing kiss, and for the rest of the night everything is like it used to be.

Laurent falls asleep with his hand held loosely in Damen’s, their legs tangled and their faces close on the pillow. He’s missed this more than he ever knew.

*

“Do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Damen’s head snaps up and he furrows his brows from across the table. “I… had thought that it was a given that we’re going together,” he says slowly, confused. Laurent’s heart is currently waving pom poms and doing an elaborate dance with relief. “Was it not a given?”

“It’s not that it wasn’t a given, it’s just…” Laurent sighs and puts his quill down, shaking his head. “It’s just we’ve been off with each other and I was… well. I was wondering if you were getting sick of me yet.”

“What?” Damen yelps. “Laurent…  _ bloody hell, _ do you really think that?”

“Um,” Laurent mumbles, looking down at his parchment. The truth is, he  _ doesn’t _ really think Damen is getting sick of him, but he does think that Damen feels out of his depth still, and he wants to reassure him he still has an out. “I mean…”

The silence that hangs over them for a little bit is heavy. “Do you really think that?” Damen repeats after a moment, and he sounds hurt.

“I dunno.” With a shrug, Laurent looks down and starts to toy with his quill. “I think maybe you might find me unattractive now, or… or perhaps you think having sex with me will be weird now…”

“ _ Stop. _ ”

Damen’s face falls and he slams his book closed and moves across to Laurent. He drops to his height and kisses him, bruising, biting, breathless. Laurent’s immediate thought is  _ we need to stop doing this in the library  _ and his second thought is  _ yes, fuck yes, I never want to stop kissing you.  _ He grabs at Damen’s face and presses close as he dares, but the kiss doesn’t last that much longer. Damen pulls back and studies his face for a few moments, then rises back up to his full height, grins, and holds out his hand.

“Hey, beautiful? Shall we get out of here before we’re shouted at again?”

Laurent grins and nods, and it feels almost like it did before, a simpler time when all they wanted to do was kiss and fuck and love one another without thought. He’s almost giddy with how he can feel Damen’s eyes on him as he hurries to shove his books and notes into his bag, and once they’re all packed up, they leave the library hand in hand, pressed close.

It’s been two and a half weeks since Damen’s big freak out, and the pair have not tried for sex since. Since then they were distant, but now they’ve hashed it all out they’ve made the move from sleeping on opposite sides of the bed to pressed close again. Four or five nights ago Laurent awoke to Damen shaking him by the shoulders, wrists pinned above his head, sweat dripping down his temples. It took him a good couple of minutes to work out what was going on, but then Damen crushed their bodies close and murmured again and again that it was just a dream and nothing could hurt him now.

(Sometimes, even though Laurent is a year younger, he looks at Damen and he remembers that he’s just eighteen, a teenager who has never been exposed to anything like this before. Damen  _ is _ a golden boy, a giant animal with no teeth or claws. Laurent loves him whole-heartedly, but sometimes he wonders if Damen will ever understand what he went through. It’s clear he’s trying his best, though, and Laurent really appreciates that more than he can put into words.)

Since the nightmare they’ve gravitated back towards each other even more, and Damen has been putting in a lot more effort. For too long it was like neither of them knew what to do or say, and Laurent gets the sense that Damen is a little more embarrassed of his breakdown than he’s letting on. Laurent won’t hold it against him, not ever, because he understands that he’s probably even more of a mindfuck now than he was before and again, that Damen has never had anything of the sort happen to him. When he isn’t at Hogwarts he lives alone with his father, who he obviously absolutely adores, and even though he lost his mother at an early age he doesn’t speak of her sadly, rather fondly. It’s a complete contrast to Laurent’s childhood, and Laurent even allows himself to dream sometimes (less frequently these days, he must admit) of living alone with Damen. He dreams of the future they could have as a couple, a couple who are happy and supportive and solid. Maybe one day they’ll even start a family, and even though that is  _ definitely  _ leagues and leagues away he thinks that maybe, just maybe, one day he could have a life where he’s completely distanced from his past.

The best thing about Damen, Laurent thinks, is that he can’t ever know his Uncle, and his Uncle never knew him. If his Uncle had known, he would have been unbearable and would probably have found a way to put Damen off Laurent for life. But that part of his life is now a finished chapter, and this new chapter is better, brighter, and untainted.

Well. For the most part.

Laurent giggles into Damen’s shoulder without meaning to, giddy with a happiness he hasn’t felt in a long time. He’s surprised at himself how fast his mood has changed, and Damen must feel the same because he stops them and turns to kiss Laurent on the staircase, chaste but wonderful. They keep it quick as they can both hear the giggles behind them, so Damen pulls back and drapes his arm over Laurent’s shoulders, squeezing, and Laurent catches his hand where it’s resting by his neck and gives it a quick squeeze.

It takes what feels like forever to get back to Damen’s rooms, but once there they waste no time in joining their mouths once more. Laurent clings to the front of Damen’s robes as Damen engulfs him in a harsh embrace, fingers digging into skin and mouth biting harshly at Laurent’s lips. They tumble onto Damen’s unmade bed and Laurent pushes himself a little higher so they can keep kissing. Wrapping his legs around Damen’s middle, he buries his hands in his hair and fucks his tongue in and out of his mouth, skin hot like burning fire.

But then Damen pulls back. “We should talk,” he croaks, but his eyes stay level on Laurent’s swollen lips. Laurent ignores him and whines, tugging him forward so he can reconnect their lips. Damen goes pliant for all of five seconds before he pulls back again and pouts. “No, babe, we really need to talk.”

“Fuck first, talk after,” Laurent breathes, leaning back so he can pull his jumper over his head. He drops his grip from Damen’s shoulders and starts fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “Come on, Damen, fuck me. You wanna fuck me, don’t you?”

Damen groans. “I always want to fuck you,” he concedes. “But we really… I mean, we need to… oh, fuck it.”

He dives back down and kisses Laurent breathless, and Laurent responds with his whole body – he bucks his hips up as he tightens his arms around Damen’s neck, his tongue flicking out to lick over Damen’s lips. Damen’s hands move down him and go to untuck his white shirt from his trousers, but before he pulls it out all the way he pulls back again, eyes bright with lust but his mouth turned down in a frown, a picture of concern.

“Are you sure?”

“I will kick you in the balls,” Laurent says flatly. Damen laughs and ducks down to kiss him lazily again, taking the pace from frantic to slow, gentle, tender. Laurent loves it like this, and now they’re getting back into the swing of things Laurent remembers just how much. Arousal hits him like a tonne of bricks, and he’s only aware that he’s hard and straining against his smart black trousers when Damen rubs a firm hand over the bulge.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” he hisses, then, “don’t tease. I want your fingers, Damen,  _ please. _ ”

“So pretty when you beg for me,” Damen murmurs, biting at Laurent’s neck. Laurent whines loudly and bucks his hips up again – he hasn’t had anything inside him for  _ weeks  _ now, and now he knows Damen wants it too and won’t push him away like before he’s positively vibrating with want. And Damen clearly understands this too. “Lift your hips for me, baby.”

Laurent does as he’s told, and Damen unbuttons his trousers and slides them down his legs slowly, teasing. Laurent almost wants to roll his eyes. Then Damen slips his thigh between Laurent’s and Laurent whines at the pressure against his cock. He’s almost fully hard now and they both know it.

“Shirt,” he demands, his clumsy fingers already going to Damen’s buttons in a bid to get the shirt undone and off him. He sees Damen shirtless every single day, but he hasn’t seen it like this in ages, and he wants to kiss and bite at Damen’s nipples - a weak spot for him. So once Damen’s shirt has crumpled to the floor, Laurent reaches out and twists one, which makes Damen gasp loudly as his back arches higher in pleasure. “That’s payback for taking too long.”

“Hey, I wanna savour this,” Damen tells him sternly. “It’s been weeks since I’ve had you like this.”

“And it’ll be another few if you don’t get naked  _ now, _ ” Laurent bites out. Damen ducks down to kiss him quiet, then he hooks his fingers in the waistband of Laurent’s boxer briefs and slides them down his legs. His cock springs free, hard and curved towards his belly, and Damen wraps a hand around it instantly.

“Hello,” he says coyly, giving it a few dry tugs. Laurent groans, his head lolling back against the pillow. He’s still wearing his shirt, but then Damen’s hand leaves his dick and hurries to wrestle his own pants undone, and soon he’s naked too. He slots his thigh back in between Laurent’s spread legs, and Laurent is so,  _ so  _ turned on that when Damen’s fingers move to Laurent’s shirt, fiddling to get the buttons undone, he finds himself hopelessly rutting against Damen’s leg in a bid to get some more friction on his aching dick.

“You’re so hot,” Damen whispers, then bites the space above Laurent’s heart, now free of its cotton prison. Then he laves his tongue over it, hot and slick, then pulls back to stare down hungrily again. “Can’t wait to fuck you, can’t wait to feel how tight you are.”

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?” Laurent complains, trying and failing to rut his hips up more. Damen is staying irritatingly, frustratingly still, because he knows exactly how to drive Laurent wild. “Damen, I swear to Merlin…”

“Want you on top,” Damen says, then suddenly he flips them over so Laurent is now hovering over him, awkwardly perched atop his thighs. “There we go.  _ Fuck,  _ look at you.”

“Fucking lazy ass,” Laurent grumbles, but now he’s on top he can lean down and suck on Damen’s nipples like he originally wanted. He uses the element of surprise to his advantage and bites down on the fleshy meat of Damen’s chest, and Damen whines and his back arches again, which is what Laurent wanted. Pleased, Laurent swaps sides, and shifts down a little so Damen’s shaft fits just between the cleft of his arsecheeks. He rubs up and down slowly, grinning as Damen realises he’s now lost the upper hand.

“You’re evil,” he tells Laurent as he slides his hand up to rest on the small of Laurent’s back, his thumb dipping into Laurent’s crack. Laurent groans and rocks down again, eyes fluttering open and closed in pure ecstasy.

“Only as evil as you make me,” he says cheerily, pushing his sweaty hair from his eyes. “I still can’t believe you’re not inside me yet, what the fuck.”

Laughing breathlessly, Damen scrabbles to open the top drawer of his bedside table, where they keep their bottles of lube. He grabs the first one he can curl his fingers around and then uncaps it, and Laurent leans forward and positions his hands on Damen’s chest for leverage before Damen squirts some into his hand and then snakes it back in between Laurent’s cheeks.

“You ready?” he asks, and Laurent whines and nods and pinches his nipple again. Then suddenly there’s a finger inside him, the slide harsh enough to burn for a few seconds. He leans forward and rests his face in Damen’s neck, biting his lip and trying not to whimper. “You okay?” Damen asks, concerned, but Laurent nods and kisses his neck.

“Just give me a sec,” he slurs, willing his body to relax. Damen obliges, and once Laurent has nodded his affirmation he starts to fuck his finger in and out slowly.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he says, over and over as Laurent takes the finger more readily. And then comes the second, and then the third a few minutes after, until Laurent is mewling and bouncing up and down like he’s on a cock, trying to take the fingers deeper, trying to get them where he wants them.

Then suddenly Damen’s fingers curl back a bit, and the pressure on his sweet spot is  _ paralysingly  _ good. Laurent lets out a shout he suspects they’ll probably have heard in the Great Hall, and then he moans, long and broken, as Damen does it again and again.

“Inside,” he starts to beg. “Inside,  _ please,  _ I don’t wanna… I’ll come if you don’t,  _ please… _ ”

“Okay, okay,” Damen says, sliding his fingers out and wiping them on the duvet. “Do you want me to wear a condom?”

“I literally do not care,” Laurent near explodes, raising himself up enough to take matters into his own hands. Damen is hurriedly slicking up his own cock with lube, then his hands move up to hold Laurent open as he starts to sink down, the wet head of Damen’s cock sliding inside him inch by painful inch.

“ _ Shit,”  _ Damen croaks as Laurent sinks down further, his eyes almost rolling back in his head. Laurent’s arse feels like it’s on fire but he can’t help but smirk as Damen lies there looking almost comical, his mouth hanging open and his fringe hanging limply in his eyes. Damen then reaches for Laurent’s hand and squeezes it, because right now they both seem unable to speak.

“Nnnggg,” is all Laurent manages as he moves forward a little, trying to find an angle that doesn’t hurt as much. He ends up moving enough for Damen’s cock to jab right on his prostate. He bounces a little on his haunches and sinks back down, and when it brushes again and again Laurent swears he’s seeing stars. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

“Close already,” Damen tells him with a breathless, hollow laugh. “Fuck, you’re so…  _ love you so much. _ ”

“Damen,” Laurent says, trying to keep up the pace of his bouncing but failing because it’s so… it’s overwhelming, and his thighs are shaking with exhaustion, his cock untouched and bouncing between his legs. “Damen, touch me,  _ shit. _ ”

His hips jerk forward as Damen wraps a hand around his cock again, and he starts bouncing harder and faster again, chasing his orgasm. After a couple of minutes of this coupled with the unrelenting pressure on his dick he’s close, so close, and then…

Then Damen wraps an arm around his back and flips them back over so Laurent in on his back, and he starts to drive into him at speed. Laurent lets out a loud wail and just  _ comes,  _ thick spurts of white shooting between their bodies. He feels almost like he blacks out he comes that hard, all his pent-up love and emotion coming out in sticky ribbons. Damen nails his prostate one last time then pulls out, wanking himself rapidly until he too comes with a grunt onto the pool of cum already hardening on Laurent’s tummy. Then he topples down beside him and drags Laurent into his arms. Laurent kisses his wrist.

“Fucking hell,” Damen wheezes, his chest rising and falling harshly, too harsh for Laurent to lie on it comfortably. He moves back and pouts, but Damen lets out some kind of possessive growl and drags him back into his arms.

“Giant animal,” Laurent grumbles, but he tucks himself into Damen’s hold, resting his tired head on his bicep. Damen’s hand finds its way to his hair and he begins to stroke through its length, twisting his fingers in the bits where it’s gone curly. Laurent purrs. “You’re a giant animal but you’re fucking excellent with your hands.”

Damen snorts and kisses his temple. “Why, thank you.” He pings a curl and grins. “You look beautiful like this.”

Laurent flushes. “I look sweaty and I’m covered in your spunk.”

“Beautiful,” Damen repeats, full of earnest, and then his face falls a little and he frowns. “Did you… did you really think I wasn’t attracted to you anymore? Is that why you stopped initiating anything?”

“Really? You’re asking this now? We were having a moment,” Laurent whines.

“Laurent.”

“Damen,” Laurent deadpans, then sighs. “Yes, alright. I did. But… you pushed me away, Damen. You pushed me away and you wouldn’t even look at me, like… that was awful. I’ve never felt so awful around you.”

“I’m sorry,” Damen whispers into his skin, then laughs, empty. “Recently I feel like all we do is apologise to one another. But I’m really, truly sorry. I was stuck inside my own head.”

“I’m going to need you to make me a promise,” Laurent says, wrapping his hand around Damen’s wrist, vice-tight. “I’m going to need you to promise me you’ll never, _ ever  _ mention anything to do with that while we’re making love. Or when we’re in bed like that doing anything. I… I need to detach  _ that  _ from sex with you.”

“I know,” Damen says, forlorn. “I know that now. I’ve been so angry with myself because I never want to see you look that sad again. I feel like I’m making it worse a lot of the time because I’m so angry and I hate that I can’t do anything…”

“No.” Laurent cuts him off and glares. “I don’t want you to sell yourself short here. You do everything. You help me forget. You make it easier to deal with, sometimes. When you’re not being an arse.”

Damen laughs again, but this time it feels a little more real. “I promise you I will try to stop being an arse.”

Laurent grins and puckers his lips, and Damen leans forward and kisses him, soft. Laurent strokes his thumb over Damen’s cheekbone and says, “I trust you. I trust you nearly as much as I trust Auguste and that… that’s a big deal.”

“I’m honoured,” Damen says, and then, “If I could be anywhere in the world at any one time it would always be with you. I could be in Azkaban and if you were there I’d be happy.”

“If you end up in Azkaban then you’re dumped,” Laurent warns. “Also I’m not sure what the policy over there is on sharing rooms with people that you’re sleeping with. Probably non-existent.”

Damen snorts. “As if that’s what you took from that sentence. I thought we were having a moment,” he mocks.

“Not anymore,” Laurent says, patting him on the cheek. “Now we’re having words about our future because  _ apparently  _ my boyfriend plans to go to Azkaban and drag me down with him.”

“You’re fucking insufferable,” Damen murmurs, then kisses him quiet.

Things don’t get easy but they get easier. There’s still a bit of residual tension between them, the kind that can’t just be fixed from having a couple of conversations and hashing it out. Laurent is hurting and Damen doesn’t always understand what to do, and Laurent still has nightmares and Damen still has questions and it’s hard. It was always going to be hard, but they’re both determined to make it work.

But as Laurent rolls over after their second round of the night, and watches the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with – arm bent above his head, eyes closed, lips curled up in a smile – he thinks  _ yes. I can do this. And I want this, for myself and for him _ and also,  _ I love you. _

“I love you,” he whispers into Damen’s bicep, and Damen brings up his hand, curls it around the back of Laurent’s neck and kisses his eyelids, and Laurent doesn’t need to hear the words to know he’s saying it back in his own way.

And in that moment, that's everything.

*

Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff 190-60 in Damen's first returning match of the season on the day they break up for Christmas. Laurent wears a Gryffindor scarf, stands at the front of the Ravenclaw box, cheers his heart out and doesn't give a fuck about the looks he gets.

*

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Damen grins, bows dramatically, and extends his arm for Laurent to take. “M’lady.”

“Wanker,” Laurent huffs, but he takes Damen’s arm anyway. It’s a bit pointless as they have to separate to move out of Damen’s bedroom, but he takes it again for the walk down the stairs and towards the Great Hall. He only feels marginally stupid in his dress robes, which are maroon and lacey and once belonged to his father. Auguste is wearing an identical one only in a cobalt blue but Laurent hasn’t seen him yet – he’s coming down from Gryffindor Tower with his date (Lisbeth, to Damen and Nikandros’s absolute delight).

Damen is dressed in black with a red dress shirt on, his hair slicked back in a quiff and his stubble trimmed neatly. He looks like a model from an issue of  _ Playwitch,  _ and even though they don't match at all colour-wise, Laurent is stupid excited to have him on his arm.

Laurent's own hair is tied up in a neat little bun at the back of his head, which he toys with as they walk through the corridors. Damen squawks and pulls his hand away when he spots him. “What are you doing? Don't ruin it,” he scolds, then takes both Laurent's hands in one of his.

“I'm not going to ruin it,” Laurent fires back. “I'm making sure it's all still in the bun.”

“There's enough of that bloody expensive potion on it that it won't,” Damen huffs. Laurent's birthday is only a few days before Christmas, so Damen had treated him to a whole range of haircare favourite from Sleekeazy. He’d also booked them into a cottage in the Peak District for a week during the Easter break, which Laurent is already giddy with excitement for. Damen had Floo’d off early in the morning to spend Christmas morning with his father and he’d returned early evening in time for the Ball, so Laurent hasn’t had the chance to reciprocate the gift-giving yet. He’s spent far too much money on Damen this year, but he knows it’s worth it.

“Yes, alright, fine,” he acquiesces, tugging his hand free from Damen’s so he can wrap it around the top of his arm instead. Damen darts forward and kisses his cheek, then they begin the descent of the main stairway together. The annual Yule Ball sees the Great Hall and the atrium outside splendidly decked out from top to bottom in silver and gold fabrics, tinsel and bunting, with more Christmas trees than Laurent can count in everywhere there’s a space. The ceiling of the Great Hall is also enchanted so it appears it’s snowing inside the castle, the pearly flakes disintegrating into nothingness when they collide with a body or the floor. It’s so very beautiful, and for the first time in his short life Laurent finds himself very glad that it’s Christmas.

Every other couple around them matches beautifully – Laurent spots Jord awkwardly holding the hand of a very handsome boy, both dressed in fine robes of blue and silver; he spots Nikandros with Kyrina from his Herbology lessons in fine matching purple and gold outfits; then he spots his brother and Lisbeth, who is wearing a glamourous off-the-shoulder dress in the exact same cobalt blue as Auguste.

“You two look fucking ridiculous,” he greets, sliding an arm across Laurent’s back and squeezing. “Could you have gone for outfits that match less?”

“Aw, you look lovely too,” Damen pretends to coo, smacking an exaggerated kiss onto Auguste’s forehead. He pulls back with a smirk. “A real gentleman, courting his lady as she deserves.”

“Fuck off,” Auguste balks, but he’s laughing despite his pink cheeks. He tilts his head towards an empty table, and the four head over there and sit down. “It’s fucking beautiful this year, isn’t it? What a year to leave on.”

“Speak for yourself,” Laurent grumbles, elbowing his brother playfully. Then he turns to Damen. “Do you reckon Headmistress Granger will let me bring you back next year to be my partner again?”

“Maybe if you dress better,” Auguste chides. Damen makes a crude gesture at him then hooks his chin over Laurent’s shoulder.

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “It would be cool though. I am Head Boy, you know.”

“You are, that’s true,” Laurent says sagely. “My big handsome celebrity boyfriend.” He pats Damen on the tummy. “Well? Aren’t you going to fetch me a drink?”

Damen rolls his eyes, but he kisses Laurent’s shoulder and stands. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Anyone else want one?”

“Depends,” Lisbeth says. “Do we know if Nikandros managed to spike the punch?”

Laurent snorts. “In that case I’ll take two.”

“Let me go and ask him,” Damen laughs, then disappears into the crowd. He’ll be gone ages, Laurent knows, because Damen will make friends with everyone he walks past and probably forget why he got up in the first place. But he’ll reappear and then probably drag Laurent out onto the dancefloor, even though Laurent has two left feet and Damen has very little grace outside of the Quidditch pitch. Thinking back, Laurent doesn’t think he and Damen have ever danced together.

When he snaps out of his reverie he finds Auguste eyeing him with distaste, so he groans. “What now?”

“Could you not have bewitched Damen’s suit so it matches yours?”

“Oh my  _ Godric,  _ get over it,” Laurent whines. “It wouldn’t have been right if we’d matched.”

“Ignore this arsehole, I think you two look very cute together,” Lisbeth tells him as she pinches Auguste’s cheek. “It’s very you two.”

Laurent really likes her. “Thank you, Lisbeth,” he says primly, then flips Auguste off. “Did you hear that? Your girlfriend thinks we look very handsome.”

He and Auguste squabble for a little while longer until Lisbeth starts complaining that they’re boring and she’s thirsty, so the three of them move from the table and towards the punch bowl, which is on a huge table in the corner where the Slytherin table would normally lie. Predictably, Damen is nowhere to be seen (though Laurent does spot him eventually, chatting to a couple of people from the Hufflepuff Quidditch team with, surprise surprise, just a drink for himself), so they decide to help themselves to their own.

The bowl is huge, with six or seven ladles in it for people to help themselves, and it refills itself every time someone takes some to drink. It’s big enough that a good handful of people can fit around it, so Laurent isn’t too surprised when someone moves in and reaches for the ladle next to him.

That is, until they start to speak.

“Very beautiful in here, isn’t it?”

Groaning audibly, Laurent shuffles closer to Auguste and away from Torveld, like he’ll burn him if he stands too close. Auguste rests a hand between his shoulder blades, and Laurent doesn’t have to look behind him to know that both him and Lisbeth are glaring. “Yes, it is,” he replies, hoping that he says it in a way that makes it clear that that’s all they’ll be saying to one another. He hurries to pour another cup for Damen, then sees that Torveld has also poured two cups. He frowns and hates how curious he is about who the other cup is for.

“Let’s go, Laurent,” Auguste says, no room for argument. Laurent follows, and then in seconds Damen is by his side like a magnet, taking one of the cups from Laurent’s hand so he can hold it.

“Hi,” he says lowly, eyes blazing. Laurent had no idea that Damen was even watching them, and when he peers behind Damen he sees that Torveld has gone back to his friends and is handing the punch over to a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. It makes him snort.

“Hi,” he echoes, and then, “Were you watching me?”

Damen shrugs, the tips of his ears going pink. “Perhaps,” he says, then frowns. “I was more watching him, to be fair. I saw him heading your way and I wasn’t having any of it.”

“It’s fine,” Laurent mumbles, because he’s so sick of this being a big deal. And to be honest he hasn’t even thought about Torveld in weeks, only seeing him a few times a week in lessons, where they don’t speak or acknowledge one another. Everyone around them suddenly starts moving towards the tables, and Laurent realises that it’s time for the feast to be served. “Hey, come on, chin up. Let’s eat and have a good time and snog under the mistletoe and stuff.” He reaches up and brushes his fingers against Damen’s cheek. “He’s not worth getting this upset about.”

Damen nods, and Laurent leads him over to the table that Auguste and Lisbeth have snagged. Nikandros and Kyrina are there, as is Jord and his date, and so Laurent and Damen join them in companionable silence as Nikandros and Auguste bicker over something to do with Quidditch.

The plates in front of them are empty, but there’s a menu for them to choose from. “Fillet steak,” Damen says loudly after scanning it, and then a huge slab of meat fills his plate, with a side of some green beans and new potatoes. A little gravy jug even materialises next to his plate. Laurent grins, suddenly acutely aware of how hungry he is, and orders pork chops for himself.

The food is delicious, and Nikandros  _ does  _ spike the punch of everyone at the table from a little flash he’s been hiding in the pocket of his dress robes. Three spiked goblets of punch and a huge slab of chocolate fudge cake later, Laurent is in a frightfully good mood, full up on good food and good booze and good company. The only thing that’s bothering him is that Damen keeps stealing glances over to a table full of Ravenclaws a few along, and Laurent knows he’s glaring at Torveld.

“Love,” he murmurs, a hand on Damen’s thigh. “It’s okay.”

Damen snatches up his hand and cradles it in his lap. “Is it?”

“Yes,” Laurent promises. “I’m with you, aren’t I? Did you enjoy your steak?”

“It was delicious, yeah,” nods Damen. “How was yours?”

“Lovely, yeah,” Laurent says. The rest of the group are off to dance, so Laurent waves them off and tucks himself closer to Damen’s side now they’re alone on the plush seats. “Damen, please. Stop thinking about it, don’t let him get in your head.”

“I hate the idea that you’ll have to share a dormitory with him next year,” Damen mutters miserably. His grip on Laurent’s hand is bordering on painful, his palm sweaty. “Maybe I can have a word with Headmistress Granger about getting you out of there.”

“Don’t be daft,” Laurent scoffs, but he squeezes Damen’s hand back, hoping he doesn’t sound too cross. He’s not – he just doesn’t want to talk about this tonight, and he tells Damen that firmly.

“Alright,” Damen agrees, but he still sounds upset. Laurent supposes he has the right to be. “Can we dance?”

Laurent nods and stands up, and Damen follows. But before he leads Laurent onto the dance floor he cups his chin in the hand not still tucked in Laurent’s and draws their lips together, kissing him slowly, carefully, surely. Laurent kisses back and by the end of it he’s smiling, then he drops Damen’s hand in order to wrap both his arms around Damen’s neck for a long hug.

“I love you,” he says quickly, kissing Damen’s temple. “So much. I don’t want to be at Hogwarts without you.”

“I don’t want you to be at Hogwarts without me,” Damen says back, shaking his head.

“But let’s not talk about it tonight,” Laurent breathes, then tucks his face into Damen’s neck. Arms snake around his middle, holding him close, and he relaxes into it. “Dance with me?”

“You already asked that.”

“And you didn’t answer.”

“I thought dancing was a given at a ball.”

“Come on then,” Damen says with a faux-exasperated sigh, and he pulls away from Laurent and then bows dramatically, hand outstretched. “M’lady.”

“I am really going to bite your dick off if you keep calling me the lady,” Laurent grumbles, but he takes Damen’s hand anyway, then squawks as Damen dips him without warning. “ _ Damianos. _ ”

“I’m not going to drop you,” Damen laughs, bundling Laurent back up and swaying them in time to the beat. They move their way through the crowd until they’re at the back corner, where they’re (thankfully) aren’t that many people. Laurent rests his hands on Damen’s hips and Damen wraps his arms around Laurent’s shoulders, and they don’t really dance, but rather sway in time to the slow song that the band are playing. Holding each other like this they’re able to keep their gaze locked, smiles big, and Laurent lets himself think over and over again that Damen is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

As this particular song comes to an end, the lyrics sweet words about love and eternity and whatnot, Laurent pulls himself into Damen and catches his lips in a sweet kiss. It doesn’t last very long, but Damen kisses back, his thumb rubbing at the nape of Laurent’s neck, his long eyelashes fanning over his cheek. He’s so beautiful that sometimes Laurent loses his breath with it.

“I really love you,” Damen tells him, and Laurent grins as he murmurs it back. They’re less dancing now than they are hugging and swaying, but that seems to be the same as most of the couples there at this point.

The clock suddenly chimes, signalling that it’s midnight and therefore Christmas is officially over, as is the ball. Damen slams their lips together once more as a cheer goes up around the students for goodness knows what, and as they’re shepherded out of there by a gaggle of tired-looking teachers they can’t keep their hands off each other. They go back to Damen’s –  _ their –  _ room, and fall asleep tangled together, merry and in love. Laurent uses Damen’s chest as a pillow and wraps his arms around his middle, and it’s heavy and it should be uncomfortable but it’s the best sleep Laurent has had for the whole month of December.

Christmas has never felt so magic.

*

**_EPILOGUE_ **

“And through here we have the kitchen,” the estate agent says, leading them through a low doorway and into a medium-sized, open plan kitchen and dining area. There’s a crummy looking dining table with mismatched chairs in the corner, and cobwebs hanging low from the ceiling. One of the cabinets has a door hanging on by one hinge, and another has so much paint peeling off it it’s almost white. Laurent balks.

“I… don’t know,” he says slowly, like he’s mulling it over. Really, he’d made up his mind the second they’d walked inside the cottage and the smell of damp hit them like a wave. Plus, the ceilings are way too low, and comical as it would be to watch Damen bang his head on them twenty times a day, somehow he thinks that might be a surefire way for a split. “Babe, what do you think?”

Damen’s crouching a little so he doesn’t bump his head, and he too looks dubious. “It’s a little smaller than I had thought,” he says, and one look at Laurent tells him all he needs to know. This is definitely not their cottage. “Do the ceilings ever, you know, get any higher?”

“Not really,” the estate agent says primly. “But it’s in a prime location, well under budget…”

“Yeah, and I don’t much fancy living here with a boyfriend with no scalp so I think it’s a no from us,” Laurent says, snatching Damen’s hand and leading him back towards the doorway. House sixteen on their list: a complete write-off.

Laurent sighs and slumps against the garden wall, then moves forward as Damen comes up behind him and starts kneading at his shoulders. “Hey, grumpyguts,” he murmurs, kissing the top of his head. “We’re going to find somewhere.”

Laurent sags even lower. “Are we?” he groans. He turns around in Damen’s arms and rests his hands on his chest. “Am I being too fussy? Like, was that one really that bad? We didn’t even see the bedrooms, or any of the upstairs…”

“But I would like to keep my head, thank you very much,” Damen interrupts, thumbing at his hip. “Laurent, it’s fine. It’s not like we’re going homeless, and anyway, something will come up, I know it. And if it doesn’t, we wait, we save more money, we get a better budget. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

“When did you get so sensible?” Laurent grumbles, but he lets Damen take his hand and guide him back towards the Portkey the estate agent set up for them.

They’re back home in no time, and when they let themselves back into their current cottage they find Auguste pulling a huge tray of steaming lasagne out the oven, cheese bubbling on the top. The house smells strongly of garlic and herbs, despite the hundreds of candles that Lisbeth constantly has burning, and Laurent whines loudly as he flops down into one of their dining chairs, resting his head on the plate.

“I take it it’s a no, then,” Auguste says as he carries the dish to the table and sets it on a mat in the middle. Laurent nods forlornly and moves his head up, gratefully accepting the glass of wine Damen’s poured for him. “What was wrong with it?”

“Everything, to be quite honest with you,” Damen says with a sigh. “Although my esteemed colleague over here is being a  _ tad  _ dramatic –  _ ow,  _ don’t kick me, you  _ are –  _ the house was truly awful. The ceilings were so low I couldn’t stand up fully and it was a proper dump.”

“It was a shithole,” Laurent says bluntly, then takes a long glug of wine. “We will never find our perfect place and I’m doomed to a life of sharing a house with my brother and his wife.”

“Don’t be an arse,” Damen chides, dropping into the seat next to him. He rubs a thumb over the back of Laurent’s neck, and Laurent glares at him but he sinks into the touch anyway. “We’ll find somewhere.”

“No luck again?” Lisbeth says as she walks into the kitchen, towel-drying her hair. Laurent shakes his head and she makes a sympathetic noise, then drops the towel over the back of a chair and walks over to Auguste, accepting his offer of a kiss. “Oh, bless you. You’ll find somewhere.”

“Why do people keep saying that if it’s a promise they can’t keep?” Laurent scowls. In fact, he spends the rest of the night scowling, and only when him and Damen get into bed that night does he stop.

“It’s gonna be fine, you know,” Damen says, toying with Laurent’s chest hair while Laurent stares pointedly at the ceiling and not at his boyfriend. “I have a lot of faith in lucky number seventeen.”

“I’m so bored of house-hunting though,” Laurent complains. “I hate the uncertainty of it all, Damen. I just wanna know where we’ll be.”

“Well, lucky number seventeen is the one with the garden that you liked so much,” Damen tells him. “It’s, like, top end of our budget but I reckon, you know, for you it’s worth you.”

“Aren’t you just a charmer?” Laurent drawls, dripping sarcasm, then he sighs. “Fine. I’m quite excited to see it actually, based on the garden alone. I couldn’t have lived in that house we saw today, Damen, the garden was shit.”

“And my baby deserves only the best,” Damen simpers, pressing a wet kiss into Laurent’s neck. “Come on, sleep, love. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He casts  _ Nox  _ to dim all the lights in their bedroom, and within minutes the pair are both fast asleep.

In the morning, Laurent wakes up first, which isn’t unusual. His usual working hours are five in the morning until one or two in the afternoon, because there’s a lot to be said about working with plants as the sun comes up. Working in the Ministry of Magic Herbological Research Committee, he’s meant to spend a lot more time at his desk than he does, but he does mostly spend it in the greenhouses and gardens tending to the plants and shrubs first hand. And he’s allowed to, too, because he has a way with the flora like nobody else on the team and, since he’s been working there, they’ve had many more breakthroughs in research than ever before.

It’s something he’s  _ very  _ smug about.

It does mean, however, that his body clock has rapidly shifted towards the early, but then again he doesn’t mind it on weekends or days off because he never normally gets the luxury of seeing Damen asleep. Damen works pretty standard hours at his job – he’s an expert Quidditch advisor to the Department of Magical Games and Sports – but with the Quidditch World Cup fast approaching he often works a lot later. So the pair had opted to take a week of leave in order to give house-hunting a proper go, because even though they both love the little cottage they’re currently living in, it is primarily Auguste and Lisbeth’s, and since they got married earlier in the year it has always felt like they’re invading.

Having said that, Auguste has never made them feel less than welcome at any point, and Lisbeth is a complete sweetheart that Laurent very much adores. But Laurent knows they’re nearly ready to start a family, or at least it’s something they’re talking about, and somehow it doesn’t feel right to still be living with them as they discuss that kind of thing.

Laurent and Damen have discussed it too, a little bit anyway, and both have concluded that it is something they’d love, but definitely not for a few years. Laurent has made it very clear that when the time comes he’ll be the one proposing to Damen, but he’s not quite ready yet, despite the fact he’s had the ring hidden at the back of their wardrobe in his old Hogwarts trunk for months. They do know that the house they’ll be buying will have more than one bedroom, but that’s all they’ve said. They’ll discuss it further when they’re ready, which Laurent knows will be soon.

He’s doing better than he was, and he’s very proud of himself for how far he’s come since leaving Hogwarts. He no longer looks in the mirror and hates himself. He no longer looks at his brother and feels guilty or defensive, and he no longer looks at Damen and sees a person too good for him, a person who will leave if and when something better comes along. No, now he sees a young bloke who wears his Ministry uniform with pride, a brother who is also his rock and who has stood by him through everything, and a boyfriend who he loves and who loves him unconditionally, and he’s very happy with his life. For the first time in his life, Laurent can call himself content.

He just wishes they could find a fucking house that they both agree on, however.

Checking the clock on the wall he sees it’s just past seven, which is a mega lie-in for him. He pushes himself out of bed and goes into the bathroom, and once he’s washed and dressed he heads towards to make himself a tea and Damen a disgusting sugary coffee (Damen has been taken a potion recently to help him bulk up, and a disgusting sugary coffee is the only thing that covers the taste, apparently). He’s just frying some bacon in a pan when his brother emerges, bleary-eyed, and Damen follows a few minutes later, sniffinG exaggeratedly.

“Do I smell bacon?”

“You do,” Laurent grins, leaning back against Damen’s chest when he feels familiar arms circle his shoulders. He allows himself ten seconds of cuddling before he swats him away. “But it’ll burn if you keep doing that.”

“My apologies,” Damen says, pretending to bow. He takes the coffee from the side and kisses Laurent once on the temple, then settles at the table. “Are you in a better mood today then, babe?”

“Fuck off,” Laurent says cheerily as he pops some bread in the toaster. He spins around, hands on hips, and tilts his head to one side. “I’m always in a good mood.” Auguste snorts from where he’s standing over by the fridge and he glares. “Well, fuck you too.”

“He’s in a better mood,” Damen tells Auguste, like Laurent isn’t in the room. He makes kissy noises as Laurent comes over with his bacon sandwich, holding it just too high for him to reach. “I love you. Marry me.”

“I fucking hate you,” Laurent tells him sternly, sitting down opposite him. He takes a swig of his tea, then grabs the folder where they’ve been storing all their house-hunting information and starts flicking through it. “What time’s the viewing?”

“11,” Damen says, garbled with a mouth full of bacon. “We’ve got a new Portkey too.”

Laurent nods and scans over the description, only half-listening as Auguste and Damen launch into a detailed conversation about this house. This house is probably one of Laurent’s favourites if he’s going off description alone, mainly because the master bedroom looks divine and the garden is to die for. And after the fiasco with the house yesterday Laurent is certainly looking forward to this one. Things can only get better, after all.

In fact, when they arrive at the house, Laurent realises that things are about to get a lot better.

From the outside, the house looks gorgeous. It’s very picturesque, like it’s come straight from a countryside living magazine – there are vines up the sides of the brickwork, curling around the windows and door frame, and there’s a beautiful filigree design carved into the front door. The knocker is even shaped like a lion; Laurent can already tell this is something that Gryffindor ‘til he dies Damen will very much appreciate.

“Damen,” he whispers, clutching at his boyfriend’s hands a little too tightly. “Damen, look at this place.”

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Damen mumbles back, sounding as awestruck as Laurent feels. “Can you see us living here?”

“Yes,” Laurent answers, a beat too fast. Then he laughs. “Fuck, I hope the garden is as good as the picture made it out to be.”

“Want to go inside?” the estate agent asks, a knowing smile on his lips. “The garden is fab on the property, I must say.”

Laurent nods and follows him up the garden path and towards the front door, which he unlocks and opens for the pair to step inside. Damen goes first, Laurent second, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from gasping out loud.

The door opens into a huge open living area, with a fireplace on the far wall, and tall bookcases built along the one to their right. On the left, a doorway leads into the kitchen, and just behind that is a spiral staircase that takes them to the first floor.

It’s perfect, absolutely perfect. And Laurent hasn’t even seen the garden yet.

“The ceilings are a little low, don’t you think?” Damen jokes. Laurent shoots him a  _ look,  _ then drops his hand so he can step through into the kitchen. The kitchen looks relatively new, or at least very well kept, with a red agar and green shelving. There’s another fireplace in there too, and a good space towards the back for a dining table and chairs. But what catches Laurent’s eye is the doorway to the garden – it’s one of those half doors where you can open both top and bottom separately, and the top has a stained glass window with another lion pattern on it.

“So many fucking lions,” he mutters.

“It’s like it’s fate, isn’t it?” Damen’s voice says right behind him, and Laurent doesn’t have to look to know he’s smirking. He tuts anyway and spins, then pointedly rolls his eyes.

“I thought you’d like that,” he says dryly. “No, but seriously, aside from the lions what do you think?”

“I think you haven’t stopped smiling since we got in here and that’s enough for me.”

Laurent slaps him on the chest. “No, seriously,” he says, trying to sound firm but he knows his smile is giving him away. “What do you think?”

“I think I love it,” Damen says quietly, then pulls Laurent into him. “But I think I want you to look at the garden first.”

Laurent nods and silently detangles himself, then unlocks the door and steps outside. The garden is… huge, is the first word that comes to mind, and it’s like the person who lived here before them was a keen Herbologist because the sides are lined with carefully tended flowers of all colours. There’s also a greenhouse towards the end of it, and Laurent takes a moment to think about everything he could grow in his own greenhouse, flowers and plants from all over the world. Just the thought of it alone makes him giddy.

“How is this place even available?” he asks their estate agent in wonder.

“Messy divorce,” the estate agent tells them with a shrug. “It’s why it’s so affordable too.”

“Fuck,” Laurent says, and then, “oh, well. Their loss is our gain.”

“ _ Laurent.” _

“What?” Laurent shrugs, and then, “Damen, I want it.”

“I know. So do I,” Damen says, then he grins, practically splitting his face in two. He takes Laurent’s hand in his and then turns to the estate agent. “We’ll take it.”

The estate agent smiles knowingly, then nods. “Fantastic. Congratulations, I think you two will be very happy here.” He shakes both their hands and then gestures towards the doorway. “I’ll be inside sorting out the paperwork, okay?”

Both men nod, then once he’s out of sight they move together, laughing against each other’s lips. Pure joy washes over Laurent’s entire body from head to toe, and as he kisses Damen, he feels like he’s coming home once and for all.

“Welcome home, baby,” Damen whispers against his lips, and Laurent smiles so wide his jaw hurts, kissing Damen again like his life depends on it. And now, standing in the garden of his new home with his favourite boy in the whole world, he realises that  _ this  _ is contentment. And he can’t fucking  _ wait _ to feel this way every day for the rest of his life.

 


End file.
